


101 Things (about Lieutenant Hank Anderson)

by MoonlightPastime



Series: Sticky Notes from Me to You (From You to Me) [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (nothing explicit in the fic, Connor Has Anxiety, Connor is sweet child who is learning, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Getting to know you, Gift Giving, Not Beta Read, Suicidal Thoughts, Sumo is a good boy, as in shameless fluff, but Hank is here so...), reference to suicidal thoughts/ideation, these boys did me in something brutal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-06-06 11:10:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15193505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonlightPastime/pseuds/MoonlightPastime
Summary: “Good morning, Hank.”The Lieutenant grunted, mouth buried in the mug already. Connor glanced towards the tv, led flickering for half a second it took to turn in on. This was also ‘routine’ now. Another thing Connor now knew.Non-verbal before consuming at least 2.76 fluid oz of coffee.In which Connor does even more 'homework' on Hank.





	1. Sticky Notes

**Author's Note:**

> So I haven't written anything in ages. But Detroit walked in and these two especially steamrolled my life and sparked those creative brain waves. So here we are.

“So, I guess you’ve done all your homework, right? Know everything there is to know about me?”

When Hank had asked that question approximately three weeks, two days and 13 hours ago, Connor felt confident in his answer. Yes, of course he had. He was Cyberlife’s best- it was his purpose to discern all relevant details to the task at hand in the most efficient and fastest way possible. He knew everything there was to know about Hank Anderson. Everything that had been relevant to his mission.

Now? Well.

Now there was no ‘mission’. Everything had come crashing down in a fiery heap of deiviancy. Now Connor found himself tucked into the corner of Hank’s couch, Sumo’s head resting heavy on his knees, tail beating a low, rhythmic pulse into the floor as Connor rubbed behind his ears. It was ‘routine’ now, had been since the day he’d started living here. Since the day he’d started ‘living’ at all.

The couch depressed beside him and Connor glanced up as Hank settled down with a groan, ratty slippers on his feet, nearly faded, thin navy blue bathrobe tied loose around his waist and a cup of steaming black coffee in hand.

“Good morning, Hank.”

The Lieutenant grunted, mouth buried in the mug already. Connor glanced towards the tv, led flickering for half a second it took to turn in on. This was also ‘routine’ now. Another thing Connor now knew.

 

_Non-verbal before consuming at least 2.76 fluid oz of coffee._

 

It was something he never would’ve bother to know. So completely irrelevant to the ‘mission’. To ‘deviants’ and his ‘purpose’. Now the fact was neatly tucked away, settled into the part of his processors simply labelled “Hank”, along side dozens of others. And there was so much to learn. So many little ticks and moments, likes and dislikes. Connor felt a rush every time he updated the list, either with something new, or addendum to previous thoughts and discoveries. He loved knowledge, loved _learning_ and Hank was as interesting a topic as he could ever hope for. And he wanted to learn, wanted to dicsover more and more about the man who’d started him on this path. Who’d been the biggest reason for his turn at the eleventh hour. Sure, Marcus had been the final ‘push’ he’d needed, dragging the doubts and questions and _feelings_ Connor had tried so hard to ignore to the forefront.

But Hank was the reason many of them had existed at all.

 _“_ _But what are you Connor?”_

He also knew that Hank didn’t seem to realize it.

So when Connor found the bright, neon coloured sticky note pads stashed away throughout the house, he set himself a new mission. After all it was impossible to miss the things, scattered across the wall of the bathroom. Little bright points of reminders or encouragements.

Connor knew that he enjoyed when his efforts and ‘quirks’ as Hank called them, were appreciated or acknowledged. It was only fair he extend that feeling to the other.

 

>> MISSION START

>>//MAKE HANK FEEL APPRECIATED

 

 

_Your favourite colour is blue._

 

The first one is simple enough. Connor slips into Hank’s room while the man is showering, note in hand. It’s the work of maybe 10 seconds to enter and scan the closet, re-assessing the accuracy of his observations, nodding to himself when he marks at least 7 different visible shades of blue in under .5 seconds. He places the note on the door of the closet and slips back out of the room.

 

 

_Rain is your favourite kind of weather._

_Sumo is not allowed on the bed. -except during thunderstorms. Because he gets scared._

 

 

_You are still a good detective._

Hank was brilliant. It was something Connor had come to appreciate more and more. So often their thoughts and ideas out on the field aligned. And Hank did not have access to all the minute, specific data that Connor could with his unique sensors and immediate access to their database in the precinct. Hank was operating on human ability alone and Connor admired him immensely for it. More and more he started watching Hank at crime scenes. Observing his methods, listening to his conjectures and the theories he’d piece together. And Connor would always be there to supply little details that Hank either missed, or _couldn’t_ know.

Youngest Lieutenant in Detroit indeed.

 

 

_You own approximately 237 ‘real’ books._

_You’re right- the paper does have a pleasant smell._

_You really should ~~stop~~ cut back on drinking_

_You are my friend._

_You dislike sweet things._

 

 

_You dislike wearing ties._

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve worn one of these things?” “Come on you fucking-”

“Do you need a hand?”

“No, I do not ‘need a hand’. For fuck sake Connor just- leave me be a minute. Go find the damn invite or whatever.”

“I already have. It’s sitting beside you wallet on the shelf bellow your car keys.” “But please hurry. We have only 23 minutes before the ceremony starts.”

“Stop bustin’ my balls Connor! I’m hurrying!”

 

 

 

_You own every album Knight of the Black Death have ever made._

Well. Now he did, Connor thinks to himself as he attaches the note to the counter in front of a sealed copy of _PESTILENCE_ , a rare album compilation of unreleased recordings and live concert feeds. When he’d cross referenced Hank’s collection with an extensive online database of all their known records, this had been the only one to pop up in glaring red. He’d asked Hank about it but the man had waved him off. Said it was ’too damn hard to find these days’. Hank hadn’t been incorrect about it being hard to find.

But Connor always accomplished his missions.

A part of him was anxious. It was his first time giving a ‘gift’ to someone. Still a novel concept and one he’d only really been turned onto when a few officers at the precinct had pitched in to get him a succulent plant and a name plate for his desk upon his return. Still, given Hank’s love of the band, Connor was reasonably certain that it would be appreciated.

“Connor! The hell are you doing? Let’s go.” Hank’s voice echoed from outside, just over the rumble of the cars engine.

“I’m coming!” Connor called back, bidding Sumo farewell and locking the door behind him. Connor slipped into the passenger side, ignoring the look Hank was giving him.

“And you get on my case for holding us up?”

“We have approximately 27 minutes before the requisite ‘5 minutes early’ rule kicks in. Given project weather and traffic forecasts- we should still arrive within projected-”

“Okay okay! Jesus, give it rest will ya? It’s too damn early in the morning for your tech babble.”

“We’ll arrive in time.” Connor grinned, rewording to fit the unspoken “In English, please.”, he could pick out in Hank’s tone. They drove in companionable silence for a while.

“So what was in the package?”

“Hmmm?”

“Something interesting?”

“That remains to be determined.”

Hank looked at Connor like he’d just grown an extra head. Connor arched a brow, not sure what he’d done. He opened his mouth to ask, but Hank cut him off with a shake of a head and muttering under his breath.

“Androids...”

Connor ducked out of Hank’s company after work, citing the need to go pick up a few sundries for dinner. Hank gave him a dubious look but let him go. Connor didn’t know why he felt so anxious. He wanted to see Hank’s reaction. Wanted to know he’d done something ‘right’. Something. Nice, for the man who’d taken him in like it wasn’t even a question.

Stepping out of the taxi, his audio processors immediately picked up a low, deep thrum in the air. It was coming from the direction of the house. Climbing the front step he opened the front door and was immediately assaulted by the screech of electric guitars and impassioned male scream-singing. Hank was standing in the kitchen, head in the fridge. An open beer was on the table, but it was the only one Connor could see, even with a quick scan of the counters and living room. Hank straightened and looked over as Connor closed the door. How he heard it over the music flooding the air was a mystery. Hank's gaze settled on Connor, blue eyes unreadable. He gestured towards the music player.

“This you?”

Connor nodded, “It seemed a shame to miss one of them. Especially when you enjoy them. And I wanted to...” Connor hesitated, taking an unnecessary steadying breath and nodding to himself. His fixed his eyes back on Hank, "I wanted to say thank you. For everything."

Hank’s brow twisted a moment, and he turned his face away, ducking back into the fridge. Connor insides felt twisted too. Had he made a mistake? Was Hank disappointed with him? For spending a rather large sum on something so frivolous? Perhaps he should reassure the other, after all Connor wasn’t careless. He’d made sure to set aside enough to cover the necessary payments for the month. Still, he knew Hank was cautious with money. Maybe he’d miscalculated-

He was so lost in thought that Hank startled him ruffling a hand through his hair. His LED flashed yellow and he jerked his gaze to the other. Hank was already moving passed him, hand dropping to pat his shoulder.

“Come on. Let’s get cooking.”

Even as the Lieutenant's hand dropped away, Connor still felt the warmth and pressure against his synthetic flesh, feeding down into his systems. A faint smile quirked one side of his face.

He had a pretty good idea what that gesture meant in “Hank” speak.

That night lead to another note,

_You’re a good cook._

 

 

And so it continued. For days, weeks even. Everyday Connor discovering something new, or being reminded of things that he hastened to jot down. It became something of a mission within his mission. Determined to add at least one a day.

 

_You are very compassionate._

_You like your ‘space’_

_You have nightmares_

_You need a new car_

_You dislike small talk_

_You use the word ‘fuck’ approximately 68 times a day._

 

 

The notes had a habit of disappearing. Since Connor didn’t touch them, and had learned not to leave them in places Sumo could get at, he felt certain Hank was the one removing them. Though Hank hadn’t ever asked about them after the first few times. The Lieutenant didn’t seem to really care one way or that other. But he hadn’t asked Connor to stop, nor did he seem angry, or upset at them. So Connor saw no reason to ‘abort mission’. Besides, he rather enjoyed the expressions he'd sometimes see flicker over Hank's face, the few times he was around to see him find the notes.

 


	2. Epilogue (...?)

"-was really impressive. I thought we could revisit-"

Grumbling, Hank shoved himself to his feet. Connor, with those damn puppy eyes, cocked his head, breaking off mid sentence.

“Lieutenant?”

“I’m gonna go crash for a while. Wake me up ‘round dinner.”

The kid’s LED whirled yellow for a moment, then Connor nodded. “Of course. Sleep well, Hank.”

Hank waved over his shoulder, already ducking into his bedroom and closing the door. Once away from the android’s too prying, too knowing eyes, Hank slumped. Rubbing at the low ache in his chest, he wandered towards the closet. He didn’t really have any intention of sleeping, so he bypassed the well worn sweat pants and shirts and reachs instead for a nondescript shoe box hidden on the top shelf. Pulling it down carefully, Hank shuffled to the bed and sat on the edge, placing the box beside him. Taking a deep breath, Hank lifted the lid and peered down into the box. Dozens upon dozens of sticky notes filled the box- nearly full at this point. All of them written in the same impossibly neat hand writing. Shifting, Hank dug in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled paper from his pocket. Smoothing out the worst of the wrinkles, Hank snorted under his breath as he re-read it again.

_You’re smiling more. ~~I like-~~ It’s nice._

“Fucking androids.” He grumbled to himself, without any heat, a smile threatening to bloom.

Connor had set it beside him alongside breakfast, appose of nothing and without a word. A break in his usual habit of plastering them on every damn surface in the house- and a few times at the precinct he recalled with a wince. The warmth that curled, like that fly away piece of Connor’s hair, in his chest afterwords stubbornly refused to leave even hours later. Hank couldn’t find it in himself to be too upset about it.

Reading the note once more, rolling his eyes at his own ridiculousness, Hank gently placed the note down among the others.

Hank had no idea what had started the other on this little crusade. Of taking note- literally- of every stupid thing Hank did. He still wasn’t honestly sure what to make of it. A part of him was irritated. Connor never could mind his own damn business. Hank wondered if it was ‘fun’ for the android. Nitpicking and pointing out all of Hank’s flaws. Silently prodding him to ‘do better’. What kind of ‘nanny protocols’ did he have anyway? Connor’d been doing similar shit long before he’d ever gone Deviant.

Another, quieter part of him ached. Cole had been the one to start the whole ‘sticky notes in the bathroom’. When he’d first learned to write, leaving little “I l ~~u~~ **O** ve you” ‘s in the morning before school, or ‘suggestions’ for dinner. Pizza!!!- had always been a big favourite. Hank swallowed hard, pushing the memories away, tucking them back into their own ‘box’.

He knew Connor didn’t know. Cole was still too delicate a subject to broach, and the android never pried. Oddly respectful, for someone who constantly sought new information. But not really odd at all, Hank corrected himself with a shake of his head. Connor was honest and gentle by nature. He still remembered the soft, aching sympathy-

_“It wasn’t your fault Lieutenant.”_

Connor had picked up this new habit from Hank. Taking notice of the plastered bathroom wall and filling it away in that big brain of his. Lists and reminders Hank used when the world got too dark and he needed something to pull him back onto his feet and push him forward.

He hadn’t really needed them lately. Not with Connor around. Damn kid was much louder and more insistent than the neon squares ever could be.

Groaning to himself, Hank scrubbed a hand through his hair and sighed. And here he was, nearly the wrong side of 50 and chasing his tail in the dark over nothing. There was no reason to get all twisted into knots over this. Something that was probably just way for Connor to pass time. Maybe there was a reason behind it all. Maybe there wasn’t. Connor had his quirks and oddities just like anybody else. Always had. Deviancy just made him stop trying to hide them so much.

And honestly. It had been a long time since anyone had known Hank. Had _wanted_ to know him. He’d never been a ‘people’ person, but for the last three years his filter had dissipated entirely and he couldn’t put on the ‘nice’ face anymore. So he’d bristled and spit and put up 50 feet walls of solid anger and resentment.

He’d forgotten a lot about himself.

Pieces of his identity had bled out from a broken heart or been vomited into the toilet. Pounded out of his brain with every hangover. Flash frozen out of his system every time the barrel of the gun touched his temple or chin.

It was. _Nice._ To know that someone gave a damn. To have a little box full of parts of himself he’d been scared to look at. Afraid that he’d lost entirely. To have proof that he hadn’t? He wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Only that he did.

Hank’d never been good with words. But Connor.

Connor deserved something. Some kind of recognition. Some kind of. Of. _Something_. To know that Hank saw what he was doing. To know that it wasn’t wasted effort.

To know that he’d woken Hank up. Just like those androids in the basement of Cyberlife.

But what to do?

 

 

 

 

In the morning, Connor roused from stasis at precisely 6am as he had every day for the past month and a half. Running a routine systems check, he got to his feet, heading the kitchen to start the coffee machine. The smell of a freshly brewed cup in the morning increased his success rate of waking Hank before 7am by a solid 67.8%.

Connor stopped at the end of hall, scanners whirling, processing and taking immediate stock of the change. There was a sticky note in the centre of the table, one that definitely hadn’t been there when he’d entered stasis for the night. Small and innocuous, but a shade of blue he hadn’t seen anywhere in the house before. With his visual processors, he didn’t need to walk any closer to read it. He did anyway, reaching out to pick it up. A furrow knit his brow. If this was Hank’s response to the last few weeks, Connor wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it.

 

 

_Y_ _ou’re still a_ _goofy looking_ _idiot._

 

 

The writing was uneven, a little lopsided and cramped. There was a squiggled little arrow on the bottom right corner. Curious, Connor turned the note over, and scanned another crooked line of text. A glitch- no, a _feeling_ causing his fingers to tremble, breath he didn’t need catching in his chest. His thirium pump regulator kicked just a little, a smile tugging crooked across his face.

 

 

_Thank you._

 

 

 

 

_> > MISSION SUCCESSFUL_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with chapter 1, if anyone has any 'sticky notes' they want to see/see expanded on then please let me know in the comments.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much to all you lovely readers who left kudos or commented! You absolutely made my day. Here's a few more notes- with more to follow in the coming days! *fingers crossed*

Sumo Enjoys Books

 

“Dammit! Sumo, no!”

Hank’s sharp voice drew Connor’s attention immediately. The android looks at the living room, where the disturbance came from. Hank is poised half off the couch, in an uncomfortable looking crouch. His right arm is extended into the air above his head, in it the worn copy of _The Prisoner of Azkaban_ that Hank had been reading before dozing off approximately 8 minutes ago. Connor had saved it from an untimely tumble to the floor, and set it on the couches arm as he went to start Hank’s dinner. Sumo _woofed_ , happy his owners face was now in range, and showed it by laving his huge tongue up Hank’s face. The man sputtered and shoved the dog’s head away- gently, Connor notes, mouth twitching vaguely in a smile- as he sat up.

“Damn dog.” He mumbled into the sleeve of his DPD hoodie as he scrubs the sleeve down his face. “How many times do I gotta say it? These-” He waves to book in Sumo’s direction as he settles back down on the floor in his favourite spot. “-are NOT your damn treats. Paper munching monster.” Sumo huffs from where his head rests on his paws, yawning languidly, ignoring Hank’s ranting with as ease that speaks of much practice.

“I don’t understand.” Connor chimes, quickly scanning Sumo’s corner of the kitchen. “His food dish is adequately full. Why would he-”

“Because he’s a menace. A big, hairy, slobbering menace. Gotta put everything in his damn m- Ah, Christ.” Hank breaks off in that way of his, which means he realized something unpleasant. Whether or not he’ll explain what it was to Connor was roughly a 39% chance.

A marked improvement from when they’d first met.

“Look, just make sure you don’t leave em where he can get at them.”

“Understood Lieutenant.”

In hindsight, that information should’ve allowed Connor to preconstruct this exact scenario.

It still took his visual processors a half a second to scan and piece together the evidence. The victim lay in tatters across the floor. Strewn about in a haphazard mess. There was approximately only 9.4% of their mass left, the rest conspicuously missing. The culprit sits just on the edge of the living room and the kitchen, heavy tail thumping a happy rhythm. There is a single shred of neon paper stuck to the bottom left jowel.

Connor’s mental list about the Saint Bernard updates as the dog wanders over, huge head shoving into Connor’s hand for his needed ‘after work pets’, his processors calculating Sumo's height and general lack of exploitative nature to create a 'ground zero'.

 

>>Sumo will eat paper.

>>//Do not place books or sticky notes within range.

 

 

 

_You are very compassionate_

 

_Tink. Tink. Tink_

Connor didn’t have nightmares. To have nightmares- or to dream in general- meant he slept. And while deviancy had awakened a lot of humanisms within him, sleep is not something androids are capable of. Of course they could simulate’ it, in a sense, falling into stasis to preform maintenance checks and updates. But true sleep was still very much a human thing.

_Tink. Tink. Ti-_

“The hell you doing kid?”

The coin landed in Connor’s palm, it’s weight both a comfort and a twinge of guilt at Hank’s sleep gravely tone in the quiet of the night. Looking up, Connor placed the vague form of the Lieutenant just outside his room. With barely a blink and quick redirecting of his processors, Connor turned the lamp on in the living room, the soft light still making Hank flinch and blink, muttering a curse under his breath.

It bought Connor time to think.

He hadn’t told Hank about Amanda. He hadn’t told anyone about her. About that night. About the loss of control and the fear. The cold, biting wind and snow eating its way through his biocomponents. It wasn’t important. Terrifying perhaps, enough to kick his systems into over drive, something sick and hot scorching through the thirium in his veins. But only to him. Amanda wasn’t a threat to anyone but him. The A.I existed solely in his programs, in his mind palace, built as a self regulating test. And she had been silent since the day he’d used Kamski’s backdoor. He’d even tried, in an act of reckless, anxious curiosity, to access the zen garden again, but it had vanished entirely from his system.

He knew that, his processors updated in a strange mix of relief and _loss_. Amanda was _gone_ -

So why did he still have moments like tonight? Where, in the dark and the quiet and stillness of the world, he could still hear the cold, heartless voice.

“ _I’m afraid I can-”_

“Connor?” Hank’s voice cut through Amanda’s, instantly drawing Connor’s focus out of his head. His attention fixed back on the Lieutenant, noting absently that he’d taken a step closer, hovering just at the edge of the hall. The side of his mouth was twisted down, brow knotted over sleep hazed eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” The apology was instinctive, Connor’s gaze picking out the dark bags beneath Hank’s eyes, restless, busy days as the world tried to adjust to the events of just a few weeks ago.

The furrow only deepened. It wasn’t an unusual reaction in the other. A lot of things Connor did and said still annoyed and frustrated Hank- something that hadn’t ever changed. But it was tinged with something else this time. Something Connor couldn’t quite put a name to.

“ ‘s not what I asked.” Hank grumbled, arms coming up to fold over his chest. He wandered into the kitchen, grabbing the chair opposite Connor and sitting down. The android felt a lot like he was in the hot seat in an interrogation.

“I...” Connor started and them stopped, shutting down the programmed “I’m okay.” that threaten his vocal processor. A desire to diffuse a situation that had stayed a part of him, even through deviating. One of the only things Hank had ever _asked_ of him was honesty. So Connor obliged. “I suppose I am. Processing.” Hank was silent, clear blue eyes still watching him closely. That same strange ‘something’ in them, prompted Connor to continue. “There were... certain events that occurred the night of the revolution that I have not had time to study further. It wasn’t important-”

“Just enough to have you up freaking out in the middle of the goddamn night.” Connor frowned at the other’s scoff,

“I’m not ‘freaking out’-”

“Your LED is basically orange with how quick it’s jumping.”

Connor snapped his jaw shut at that, fingers drifting to brush his LED like an after thought. For a moment Hank looked a little guilty as he leaned farther back into his chair. The two stared at each other, the silence dragging on and broken only by Sumo’s quiet snores and howling wind kicking up outside. Hank moved first, scrubbing a hand through his already mussed hair as he sighed,

“There...anything you wanna- I mean. Y-you know, if you need to-” Hank wasn’t ever very forward with feelings, but it was unusual to watch the red pool against his cheeks. Likely triggered by the rising frustration and embarrassment Connor could sense. “Fuck. Look. If you need to. To talk, or whatever. I’m here.” His tone softened at those words, falling into something low and gentle. It made Connor feel a lot like he had when the other had pulled him into that hug in front of Chicken Feed.

Safe.

“You’re a very kind person.” Connor said, simply because he felt it needed saying. Hank choked,

“The hell-!?”

“And that’s not just my Social Relationship program talking.” Connor smiled the smile he knew Hank called his ‘bullshit brown nosing’ one.

“Fuck you!” Hank stuttered, face flushed, not an ounce of heat or anger in his voice even as he shoved himself to his feet and headed for the hall. “I’m going to bed.”

“Hank?”

“Hmm?” Hank grunted, still not looking at Connor, but he’d stopped just outside his room. Waiting. _Listening_. Because he said he would. It made something warm flicker through Connor’s systems.

“Thank you.”

Hank’s shoulders hitched just a little, hand raising to scratch the back of his head again. The man sighed, and while Connor couldn’t see his face through the thick curtain of hair falling around it, he still caught the warm smile in Hank’s tone as he spoke.

“G’night Connor.”

“Goodnight Hank.” And then, because Connor was- according to Hank- ‘a little shit’, he grinned and chimed, “I’ll see you in approximately 3 and half hours.”

The resounding groan echoed through the house even as Hank disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Connor to chuckle to himself and Sumo to huff and roll onto his side in his sleep. His thoughts had calmed, not entirely, as he could still see his LED flickering yellow in the darkened window. But enough that the thought- the _threat_ \- of Amanda was far away, the chill of fear loosened it’s grip on his joints.

He left that nights sticky note on the bathroom mirror, where Hank would stumbled upon it first thing in the morning.


	4. Nightmare

“Wrong choice, Lieutenant!”

Hank felt cold. His blood ice in his veins, hands shaking, smoke rising from the barrel of his gun. There was thirium dripping to the floor, puddling on pristine tile, feeding into the cracks. There was a bullet hole in Connor’s heart. Hank had put it there. He’d done this. He’d made the wrong _fucking choice_ -

The smug, fucking sack of shit that had Connor’s face smirking as he approached. Walking forward, spouting that ‘mission accomplished’ bullshit Hank couldn’t stand. “You can kill me if you want,” The fake continued, standing before Hank so his gun was pressed to the exact spot where he’d- “doesn’t matter anymore. Another Connor will take my place.”

How? How had he thought- for even a moment that this lying bastard was- was _his_ -

The fake walked away, stepping around the Lieutenant without a backwards glance. Hank didn’t try to stop him. Couldn’t bring himself to move. To look away from where Connor knelt, collapsed and bleeding and broken because...

Why? Why had he done it? Why did he shoot? He knew Connor had answered right- could hear the kid’s voice in his head clear as anything.

_Cole. His name was Cole._

The gun tumbled from Hank’s nerveless fingers. His skin itched, felt _wrong_ and he couldn’t catch his breath without gasping. Red smoke filled the air with every hitching gasp and Hank stared in horror at the blood- no.

The _Red Ice_ staining his hands.

Hank jolted awake, bile flooding the back of his throat. Legs tangled in sheets so thoroughly he nearly face planted out of bed trying to kick free. Slapping a hand over his mouth, Hank staggered out of his door and across the hall. Fumbling on the bathroom light, Hank made a beeline for the toilet, dropping hard on his knees and retching violently.

Fuck. _Fuck._ What was wrong with him?

“Hank?”

Hank groaned into the toilet. Of course. This just had to be one of the nights Connor hadn’t bothered with stasis. He didn’t even have to look at the other to know he was being scanned up one side and down the other. Connor probably trying to see if Hank had broken the tentative pact of ‘decreased alcohol consumption on work nights’. God, what Hank wouldn’t give for this to just be hangover. He doesn’t dream, period, when he’s completely smashed. That’s part of the whole appeal.

Connor’s hand was a cool, steady pressure against the back of his neck. Hank hadn’t even heard him come over. Even through his blurred vision, Hank could see the knot fixed firmly between the android’s eyes. Soft brown worried, yellow LED barely visible in the shitty electrical light of the bathroom. Connor was talking again, about ‘high stress levels’ or something. Hank couldn’t wrangle his focus enough to catch any full sentences.

He couldn’t focus enough on much of anything besides the slow settling of his roiling guts and the equally strong _relief_ coiling through the rest of him. The kid was here, he was okay. Alive. Hank hadn’t fucked up irreparably. Hadn’t made the wrong choice. Hadn’t _killed-_

“-go get you some water.” Connor’s voice broke through the sickening haze in Hank’s head. Before Hank realized what he was doing, he’d lurched, the motion threatening to upturn his stomach again. His hand locked itself around Connor’s wrist with a grip that probably would’ve bruised a human.

“Don’t-” God, was that seriously his voice? Jesus, he sounded like he’d swallowed glass.

“But Hank-”

“Don’t fuckin go...” Fuck Hank couldn't stand how utterly _pathetic_ he sounded. But the reignited fear had clawed its way up his spine and chased out the desperate plea. Connor watched him, confused and still.

Android’s didn’t really have a pulse so to speak. Nothing really noticeable since their veins or whatever were all tucked safely away under their plasteel chassis. But with his grip on Connor’s wrist, Hank could still feel the odd thrumming electrical processes that made him up. And right now Hank was pretty sure that feeling was the only thing keeping him from going straight for the whisky to drown himself in bitter oblivion.

Well. That, and the heartbreaking tender concern flooding those ridiculously huge brown eyes. Hank had to look away, laying his head back against the toilet seat so his brain wouldn’t overlay that image with the dark, dead eyes of his nightmares.

Hank could see, in the faint twitches and fluttering light at his temple, that Connor wanted to ask. Ask if he was okay. Ask what happened. Data mine Hank’s barely lucid brain so he could understand and _fix_ the problem.

Hank could also see the moment Connor decided against it, swallowing down his programming or nature or whatever the fuck it was that made the kid bother with his useless, dead ass self. Instead Connor shifted under Hank’s grip, the human’s hold having loosened just enough. Instead of pulling away, Connor simply twisted his hand around until he could grip Hank’s arm in return. That meant something, Hank’s head muttered under the whispers of failure and fear. Connor’s solid yet tentative hold on him meant something. He’d seen if before, but he couldn’t place it.

“What’re you-”

“It’s alright.” Connor soothed. Shit. Hank must look like a fucking disaster if the android was breaking out the ‘negotiator’ voice. Connor dropped to sit on the floor, movements slow and fluid in a way only his kind were capable of. The kid’s eyes never left Hank’s face, his hand never letting go of the lieutenant. “Everything is alright. I promise.”

Despite himself, Hank found himself relaxing. The tension slowly oozing out of his muscles. As it did, exhaustion smashed itself between his eyes with the force of a battering ram. Hank slumped back beneath it, back hitting the side of the tub. Their connected hands formed a kind of bridge in the air between them. Hank could’ve sworn the flickering pulses he felt under the kid’s skin changed, increased somehow. Maybe. Hank still couldn’t place what this was.

Connor seemed oddly hesitant. His gaze was fixed on some undefined point, led flickering briefly. Hank watched in strange, awed fascination as Connor lifted his free hand. The fact that he rested it on top of the one Hank held him with wasn’t what had the Lieutenant’s breath catching sharp in his chest.

It was the fact Connor had retracted his skin, revealing the smooth white and grey chassis beneath.

_Interfacing_. The word snapped into place in Hank’s head. Connor was interfacing with him. Or, well, trying to. Or something. Hank wasn’t an android after all. It wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ work. But it meant something- something hugely significant. And Hank wasn’t-

“I’m here.” Connor murmured, voice soft as he repeated what Hank had told him, all those weeks ago after catching the android up. Lost in his own dark thoughts. The strange electrical pulse tingled against Hank’s skin and seemed to echo those words. A balm against his riled nerves. Just enough to push the horror from the forefront of his mind.

Hank swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.

“Yeah.” He choked out. A warm, awkward smile settled over Connor’s face, another layer of relief settling over Hank’s nerves. “Yeah you are.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You use the word ‘fuck’ approximately 68 times a day."  
> EM400 = Jerry's model.

“Oh for fuck sake! I can’t believe this shit!”

_11_

The counter ticking away in the corner of Connor’s vision jumped forward. Slightly above predicted averages for this early in the day, but not enough to warp the over all data sample. So Connor was confident in continuing.

It was Hank’s regular use of the expletive that sparked this bout of curiosity. He used the word in basically every context that one could and even a few where it probably wasn’t. But Hank made it work somehow. It was honestly kind of fascinating. He’d been calculating the frequency for nearly a week now, adjusting and boiling down the numbers to find some kind of average. He should have results by that evening given his current projections.

Connor's attention turned back to where Hank stood in the kitchen, leveling a wicked glare at the old coffee machine that had sputtered it's last gargling breath 3 seconds ago.

“I did offer to order a replacement-”

“Ah, ah ah, Shut the fuck up. I don’t need the attitude right now.”

_12_ _._

“Whatever you say Hank.” A Hank without his morning cup was someone who Connor had learned it was better to just quietly agree with if avoidance wasn't an option. Hank still growled at him, shoveling down the last of his eggs, before snapping up his jacket.

“Come on. Might as well get this shit show on the road.”

 

 

 

“Fuck that’s good.” Hank groaned, taking a long, slow sip of the coffee Connor handed him. It was from one of Hank’s favorite coffee shops just down from the precinct. After a near close encounter with Gavin as they'd entered the building, Connor had predicted it would be better for everyone to take initiative and sooth the caffine-ravenous human. “Just what I needed. Thanks.” The human grunted, tipping the to-go cup towards the android.

“You’re welcome Lieutenant.” Connor smiled and ticked up the counter.

_17_

The day continued on, Connor and Hank focusing on their latest case, a string of anti-android vandalism occurring close to New Jericho. While they did occasionally dabble in other crime, their major focus continued to be android-based. Though it’s focus had shifted of course towards the _protection_ of said androids. Connor didn’t mind it, seeing it as a way to atone for his past wrongs, to prove that Markus had not misplaced his trust that night. Hank grumbled about it from time to time, but he grumbled about everything and Connor was, slowly, getting better at discerning the other’s moods.

For example, actually upset Hank tended to make the counter jump exponentially, which it did that afternoon when Fowler called him into his office again. By the time the pair was released to go ‘pound the pavement’ after a lead, the counter was sitting at a nice even _28_.

 

The lead ended up being more or less a dead end. Which led to a very frustrated Hank. Which led to Connor fight back amusement as the counter in the corner of his vision jumped and skipped along. Then they caught accidental wind of another string of crimes near by, an android being harassed by two teenagers. Connor spent the next 23 minutes chasing down a pair of very scared, delinquents who took off like bats outta hell the minute they caught sight of him and Hank. It was honestly kind of fascinating how quickly their stress levels rose. Not from Connor, who’d chased them tirelessly across nearly 10 city blocks before apprehending them, but Hank, red faced and sweating as he’d breathlessly cursed them out for being ‘a pair of fucking stuck up, idiotic fucking pricks’ after Connor read them their Miranda rights as the Lieutenant caught up. Hank’s jacket was missing, a detail Connor was confused by. Hank loved that jacket, and had followed Connor with it on in more than one dash through the city. The boy’s were silent, cowed by Hank’s furry, as they were pushed into the back of Chris’ police cruiser when the other officer arrive in response to Hank’s radio call.

Hank fumed silently on their walk back to the car. He relax a little as the car came into sight and the EM400 the teenagers had been shoving around, stood there waiting for them. Connor also found Hank’s jacket, draped across the other’s androids shoulders like a blanket. Connor looked at Hank.

“Shut up.” The human snapped, cheeks flushed with exertion and embarrassment.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“No, but you fucking thought it. So shut up.” Hank said, glowering at Connor before he turned to EM400. The human’s posture and expression soften a little as he got closer. “How’re you doing, Charles?”

“I-I am alright.” The EM400 said, nervous fingers clutching the jacket closed in front of his chest, shot cropped, carrot red hair mussed. There was a small trickle of thirium leaking from one side of the android’s nose, but other than that he seemed unharmed. Hank hummed, the sound unconvinced, but he didn’t push it.

“Don’t worry. Those little fuckers are gonna spend the night in a cell if I’ve got anything to say about it. Here-” Hank dug in his pocket a moment and produced a handkerchief holding it out to Charles.

“Thank you.” Charles smile was a nervous thing, but his eyes were grateful as he dabbed at the thirium. Hank shrugged, waving him off again as he curled his arms across his chest.

Taking pity on his partner, Connor pipped up, “Do you mind coming down the station with us to provide a testimony.” Charles look surprised and a little wary, but Connor was used to that around other androids. He consciously relaxed his posture and gentled his tone, “We’ve reason to believe the two who attacked you may be connected to the string of vandalism and theft around New Jericho. Your help could go a long way on making sure we can stop it.”

“Of course.”

The three of them climbed into Hank’s car and headed back to the precinct. It didn’t take them long to get a testimony from Charles. Chris had already taken care of the teenagers, booking them for harassment and underage possession of alcohol. Hank’s grin was vindictive as they were settled into cells for the night. Charles left shortly after, returning Hank’s jacket and thanking them both again several times.

“C’mon Connor, let’s get the fuck outta here. I’ve had enough of this for one day.” Hank said, stretching from where he’d been hunched over his desk filing a report for the last hour.

“Coming Lieutenant.” Connor chimed, pulling himself away from the interface on his desk and standing. Hank eyed him warily across their desks.

“The hell are you so chipper about?”

“Just some interesting data I came across. Don’t worry about it.”

Hank stared at him a moment longer then shook his head, muttering under his breath. Connor politely pretended not to understand, standing as Hank started for the exit. Connor forced his feature to fall into a neutral expression as he followed, ignoring the weird sparks of happiness buzzing along his system. He found himself quite partial to the number _51_ in particular. Deviancy was a strange thing.

They made it home without incident, after stopping for groceries,and quickly fell into their routine. After changing out of their work clothes,Connor took a happy, whining Sumo out back to do his business while Hank started on supper. The android spend a good 20 minutes playing with and tussling with Sumo letting him bleed out the energy from being cooped up from nearly 9 hours. Once the big lug had had enough, Connor let him back inside, ignoring Hank snickering at his tousled hair and mussed clothes. Soft jazz echoed through the air, a nice compliment to the gentle aroma wafting from the kitchen. Taking the time to refill Sumo’s food and water dishes, Connor took a seat across from Hank at the table, occasionally breaking the amiable silence with talk of ‘pointless’ things. ‘Work talk’ as Hank called it, was strictly not allowed once they were off the clock. Connor found he really enjoyed these evenings. He’d had a lot of sticky notes spawn from these conversations.

The sun had all but set as they settled in the living room, Hank lounging in the arm chair, while Connor curled on the side of the couch designated ‘his’. There was an old sitcom playing on the TV, one from Hank’s younger years and the human was snickering into his first- and only- beer of the night over it. Connor didn’t really get a lot of humor, human or otherwise, but watching Hank grin and hearing his low laughter settled something warm just below his thirium pump regulator.

“Christ. Funny 30 years ago and still fuckin’ funny now.”

_65_

The evening continued, time crawling by in a soft haze of warmth. As his internal clock turned closer to 10pm, Connor glancedat Hank, the other having been quiet for awhile. The lieutenant was reclined back comfortably, a book resting on his chest, head tilted at an uncomfortable angle. Connor winced in sympathy, straightening from his seat.

“Hank?” He called, keeping his volume low, not wanting to startle him. Hank didn’t twitch, just grumbled under his breath. Connor blinked and got to his feet, pausing to rub behind Sumo’s ears where he’d settled in front of the couch. Stepping lightly over to Hank’s side, Connor reached and rested a hand on the man’s shoulder, jostling him slightly, “Hank you need to wake up.”

“Mngh- fuck off, lemme sleep.” Hank said, groaning and swatting ineffectively at Connor.

“I’m sorry Hank, but if I allow you to maintain this posture, it will be detrimental to your well being. I advise you get up and go to bed.” As he spoke, Connor ticked the counter up to _66_ as he grasped Hank’s hand and pulled, gentle but insistent.

“Alright! Alright, let go. I’m not that old yet.”

Hank pulled free of his grip, scrubbing a hand across his face as he shoved to his feet. He stumbled half a step, Connor’s systems primed to catch him if need be, rubbing a hand against the side of his neck, clearly already sore.

“ ‘m up now. Happy? And don’t wake me up tomorrow. Finally got a day off and I’m gonna take full advantage.” Hank mumbled around a yawn. Connor nodded, automatically adjusting the internal alarm he set for their work days.

Hank headed for the hall, scrubbing a hand through his hair, but stopped after a few steps. “Oh yeah. Connor?” Connor perked up, curious when the other turned back, levelling a glare and a stern finger at him. The effect was somewhat diminished by the sleepy haze over his blue eyes. “Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been skippin stasis for like a week, you little shit.”

Connor blinked, surprised. He’d been certain he’d keep his restless nights quiet enough to not disturb Hank, especially after the night Hank had found him at the kitchen table. He usually just sat up and watched a muted TV, read one of Hank’s books, or idly browsed the network, ever on the hunt for new information.

Hank continuedto surprise him with his intuition. And his concern, the glint of it obvious in the low light of the house.

“So sit down or cuddle with Sumo or whatever you gotta. Just go the fuck to sleep tonight, kid. Got it?”

_67_

Even as the counter updated, Connor felt that same, soft warm flicker through him, “Understood. Goodnight Hank. I hope you have a pleasant sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah. You too. G’night.”

Hank disappeared into his bedroom, closing the door most of the way. Connor turned off the TV and all the lights. As he settled back onto the couch for the evening, he pulled the data up from his little week long experiment. Compiling the numbers, his process whirled, the work of a fraction of a second to let the numbers calculate and coalesce into an average based on days of silent observation.

From Hank bedroom there was a dull thud, startling Connor briefly. Looking over his shoulder, his audio processors caught a single, strangled curse through the small crack of Hank’s door.

“ _Fuck!”_

A smile curled over Connor’s features, a quiet laugh huffed out of his nose. The calculations settled in the corner of his vision.

_68._


	6. Serenity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, SO much to the lovely people who left comments and kudos or bookmarks! You all are absolutely amazing, and make my day! Hope you enjoy the latest update too.
> 
> And again, if anyone wants to leave any suggestions for 'sticky notes' in the comments they are absolutely welcomed! I do legitimately want to create 101 of the things if I can, so any nuggets of inspiration are very helpful! :D

The bullpen was quiet when Connor slipped in at 5:07am. The evening shift was coming to a close, a few officers milling around the space wearily. He nodded in greeting to the bleary eyed few who noticed him, but continued towards his current destination.

“Connor?”

The sound of his name over the quiet had the android turning. His gaze landed on a familiar face coming towards him from the break room. Connor stopped.

“Good morning Officer Wilson.”

“Yeah, ‘morning. You’re here early.” Wilson’s gaze dropped and he looked around, a furrow catching between his eyes, “Where’s Hank?”

Reminded of his partner’s absence, Connor straightened. A small, anxious buzz arch through him, like it had been since yesterday when the Lieutenant had spiked a fever. He needed to return soon. “The Lieutenant is unwell and currently resting at home. I’ve come to retrieve a few files about our most recent case. Was there something you needed?”

The man’s dark eyes widened and he quickly raised his hands, shaking his head. “No! No, uh, I just. Figured I’d say hi. Didn’t mean to hold you up.” Wilson, rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, fidgeting on the spot. “I hope the lieutenant gets feeling better.”

“I’m certain he will make a full recovery,” Connor would not accept any other results. “-but I will make sure to pass on the message.”

“Right. Well, have a good one Connor.” Wilson said, giving an awkward wave as he walked away. Connor returned the gesture with a nod, then continued on towards Hank’s desk.

As he downloaded the files from Hank’s terminal, Connor’s attention drifted across the desk. It had stayed relatively the same the last few months- though the board was missing the ‘anti-android’ slogans now.

The nearly dead bonsai tree was also there. The plant hadn’t even been a blip on his radar in November, but now he paused and allowed his systems to draw up pages of information on it. Tips on where to find them, how to care for them, ect. But his attention caught on a page of information detailing the tree’s supposed ‘symbolic’ nature too. Words like ‘peace’ and ‘serenity’ jumped out at him. He wondered if Hank knew their meaning, or if he chosen it for it’s aesthetic appearance. The web had spit out dozens of pictures of brilliant green and red leaves along twisting, slender branches. Though, there was also a possibility that Hank hadn’t chosen it himself. It might have been a gift, like the smattering of succulent plants lining one edge of Connor’s desk.

Regardless of whether Hank had chosen it himself, or it had been a gift, the fact remained that it wasn’t doing well. From Connor’s scan he could see the root jammed down into the insufficient container, not enough space for most typical desk plants, let alone something like this. The soils moisture and nutrient levels were near non-existent, facts revealed as Connor took a quick sample. The Lieutenant had obviously not taken the time to care for it- certainly not properly- in quite some time.

Rather like how Hank had not been taking care of _himself_ for quite some time.

The thought made Connor pause a moment, led whirling yellow.

Connor was good at finding parallels between things. At lining up piece of evidence and creating scenarios around them. But deviating had allowed him the addition of ‘abstract thought’. Of _creating_ ideas, like Markus created paintings. And because of that, Connor couldn’t help but file a kind of similarity between the maple and his partner. Confined by their cirumstances and unable to care for themselves.

Hank _had_ shown improvement over the months- regardless of the mean spirited comments Gavin still spouted. Connor knew enough of the human psyche to know that Hank’s personal issues would never truly ‘go away’. Some days were better, some days were worse. But Hank had made a concentrated effort to cut back on the alcohol and the high sodium meals. He was actually _trying_ to live again. And watching his progress over these last few months made Connor feel. A lot of things actually. But happiness was pretty high up on the list. And Hank would’ve grumbled and snapped if Connor said it out loud, but he was proud. Proud of Hank for trying.

And, if the plant could symbolize those things for humans, then perhaps Connor should attempt to revive it. Hank could do with a bit more ‘peace and serenity’ in his life.

An alert pinged across his vision, Connor blinking in surprise as he read it.

_Incoming call from Lt. Hank Anderson._

Accepting the call, Connor winced at the rough, hacking cough that echoed down the connection.

 _“_ _Connor? The hell’d you vanish off to?_ ”

“Good morning Hank. I apologize for worrying you.” Connor ignored the immediate snap of “I wasn’t-!” and continued, “I’d meant to return before you woke up. I stopped at the precinct to collect those files we discussed the other day.”

“ _At the ass crack of dawn? You have way too much fuckin’ energy._ ”

“Incorrect. I’m currently functioning at 87% battery life.”

“ _Oh my god Connor, please. Just. No._ ”

Amusement skittered through Connor’s system, though he felt a little bad for the exhaustion underscoring the other’s plea. “Sorry Lieutenant. Was there a reason you called?”

“ _Nah I, uh._ _Just wondered where you ended up._ _I’m good."_  There was a paused, where Connor could construct Hank rubbing the back of his neck, eye shifting left as he spoke, " ‘ _Less you got a minute to like, go get_ _some decongestant_ _or something...”_

Connor immediately cycled though a data base of dozens of drug stores in the area, picking out the best option based on proximity, hours of operation and traffic forecasts even as Hank finished his sentence. Pinning the location on his GPS system, Connor stood up from the desk and started for the exit.

“Of course. I should be no more than 17 minutes. Please try to get some more rest, or at the very least relax and drink some water.”

“ _Fuck off._ ” Hank grunted and disconnected the call. Connor smiled to himself as he climbed into the ‘Oldsmobile’. A quick stop to the drug store, and aided by the quiet, early morning streets, Connor found himself stepping back into the house by 5:38am.

Hank was waiting for him. Perched in a miserable pile of feverish, pallid skin, tousled silver hair and what looked to be two blankets and his bathrobe on one side of the couch. There was a glass of water resting on his leg, mostly empty. Connor closed the door softly behind him and toed off his shoes, neatly setting them to the side. Hank had the TV on, volume near silent, just a low, atmospheric hum through the air. Connor approached quietly. He knew Hank wasn’t asleep, a quick scan having revealed his heart rate too high.

“Hey.” Came the quiet rasp as Connor stopped at the edge of the couch. Hank did glance at him then, sleep heavy gaze sweeping over him once before turning back to the tv screen.

Connor held out the bottle of pills he held, “I’ll go refill that for you.” He said, gesturing to the empty glass. Hank shrugged and handed it over. Stepping over Sumo lounging behind the couch, Connor headed for the kitchen sink. He could hear Hank opening the bottle of pills and shaking a few out.

“Let me know the next time you decide to pick up and leave.” Suprised at the words, Connor looked over as he turned off the tap. Hank still wasn’t looking at him, attention on the bottle as he twisted the lid back on and leaned forward to rest it on the coffee table. Connor’s brow furrowed a bit,

“I didn’t want to wake you. You need the rest in order to speed your recovery.”

“Just do it, Connor. Alright?” Though the exhaustion was still there, Connor caught the sharp edge beneath those words.

Oh. Perhaps his earlier jab at Hank’s concern hadn’t been off base. Connor knew Hank worried about him. Always had, even in the very earliest day’s of their partnership. He still found it confusing and illogical, since of the two of them Connor was by far more resilient. Androids by their very nature were built to endure more than humans.

That fact hadn’t ever stopped Hank from worrying. From _caring_. Something in Connor softened, an increasingly familiar warmth coiling through his circuits.

“Alright. I’m sorry Hank. I’ll let you know in the future.” Connor held the glass of water out, stepping around the edge of the couch. Hank’s tired, but sharp eyes caught his for a moment, holding, before the human nodded, stiff and snagged the glass, taking a large gulp as he swallowed down the medication.

“Do you need-”

“Nope.” Hank cut him off neatly, setting the glass of water on the coffee table. Shuffling in palace, Hank freed one arm from it’s cocoon and held the edge of the blankets up. “Quite your fussing and sit down already, nanny bot. It’s fucking cold out.”

Connor could’ve pointed out any number of inaccuracies in that. He hadn’t been programmed to be a ‘nanny bot’, regardless of Hank’s constant use of the phrase whenever Connor did things like helpfully point out the calories in his meals. And the temperature of the room was in fact only slightly below average for an early spring morning. It was just the fever throwing Hank’s perception off.

Connor said exactly none of those things and sat down beside Hank. As he settled, Hank made a low noise of satisfaction, and threw the blanket over his lap. Connor blinked, looked at Hank, and again refrained from comment. It never seemed to matter how many times Connor told him that he did not feel cold, the human never bothered to listen. If they were on the couch, and there was a blanket involved, it always ended up spread across _both_ of their laps.

Hank shifted around a little more, pillowing his cheek on a fist as he leaned against the arm of the couch. One of the pillow from Hank’s bed would’ve been at least 58% more comfortable, and better for his neck, but he hadn’t asked for one and Connor didn’t want to get up and disturb him. Quiet settled over the house again, only the quiet droning of the tv, and the huffing snores from Sumo behind them breaking it. Hank dozed, not quite falling back asleep fully, but he relaxed more and more as the medication worked through his respiratory system and eased his breathing. Connor sat silent beside him, eyes a little unfocused as researched Japanese maple trees. As he did, he pulled up his list of priorities, adding a new bullet point to the list.

  * Hank
  * Sumo
  * Succulent plants #1, #2, #3 and #4 ( _designations pending as per suggestion_ “Christ, just name the damn things why don’t you.” _from Lt. Hank Anderson_.)
  * Hank’s maple tree (encourage Lt. Hank Anderson to provide a designated name? Pending...)



 

 

Connor left a sticky note attached to Hank’s medication bottle once the other had stumbled back to bed roughly an hour later.

_Your coworkers wish you a speedy recovery._

And another followed in the days to come. Connor had slipped back to the precinct a few times, occasionally to collect more data, or assist in cases. But mostly to begin caring for his latest priority. He spent a lot of ‘down time’ researching the best methods for resuscitating the plant, even downloading WR600 protocols to aid him when it came time to actually transplant the bonsai into it’s new containment structure. It was delicate and time consuming work but Connor found he enjoyed it quite a lot.

 

 

 

Thermos of coffee clutched in one hand, Hank stood in front of his desk, not sure what to make of what he was looking at. He’d been out with the spring flu from hell for a week and _someone_ had moved his desk around. Well, not just _someone_. Hank knew that this was Connor’s doing. And it wasn’t a huge change, but after having his desk in more or less the same set up for years, made the adjustment stand out like a sore thumb.

For one the old coffee cup had been washed out and positioned, by the monitor. The reports and files littering the surface were stacked neatly to one side. But what had caught Hank’s attention first and foremost was the literal fucking tree growing where there’d only been a scrawny barren branch before. Gone was the itty bitty pencil holder of a container, replaced by a wide oval basin. The soil was dark and rich, glittering slightly beneath the small solar lamp now attached to his board, delicate green leaves soaking up the artificial light.

Still baffled, and frankly half asleep, Hank sank into his chair. He had no idea how Connor had done it. He’d been gone a week and the damn thing had been _dead_. Or at least real fucking close to it. Way too close to have become _this_. Setting down his coffee, Hank scooted his chair closer and leaned on the desk, peering at the tree. There was something slightly off coloured on the trunk. Reaching out, Hank brushed a finger against it, feeling the shift in texture.

“I grafted the core onto a new specimen.”

“Jesus!” Hank yelped, lurching back in his seat, heart pounding a million miles a minute at the sight of his _prick_ of an android partner hovered beside him. Connor didn’t even apologize, just smiled that irritating polite smile of his and continued.

“The original was unfortunately too damaged to survive a transplant on it’s own. So I obtained another and combined them.”

“Neat.” Hank said, still pissed and without nearly enough coffee in his blood.

“I thought so.” Connor agreed, sounding way too sincere, “It may have changed, but the...the ‘heart’ of it is still the same. Despite everything.”

Something in the kid’s tone shifted. Something soft, almost reverent underscoring those words. Connor wasn’t looking at the tree.

He was looking at Hank.

It was only for a moment, a brief flicker of a glance, but Hank caught it all the same. Thank god he was wearing his hair down today because he could _feel_ the heat starting at the tips of his ears. Stupid fucking kid with his too big mechanical heart. So Hank deflected because he always did when Connor got all soft on him.

“Well excuse me, princess. Not all of are a fucking herbology wizards.”

If rolling one’s eyes could be an audible sound, it sure as hell was the sigh Connor gave in response. Connor’s led flickered through two cycles of yellow, before settling again as he moved towards his own desk.

“I’ve left a document on your computer detailing the recommended procedures for taking care of it. I’ve made sure to keep it simple and concise.”

“Gee thanks.” Hank did not stick out his tongue. That would’ve been childish and he was 53-fucking years old.

Instead he flipped him off. And then opened up the new document flashing on his task bar.

One look at the 37 page document had him closing the damn thing in about 10 seconds. It was a plant. You gave it sunshine and watered it every once in a while. He did not need a fucking novella to tell him that.

Connor was called away a few minutes later by Chris. Hank took the time to look at the tree again. Connor’s words about the ‘heart’ or whatever were still bouncing around in the back of his head. Who knew the kid was so sentimental? As he look in the deep blue basin, lined with little details of bright silver around the rim and base, Hank noticed the little slip of paper sticking out from underneath it. Curious Hank reached over, lifting it carefully to pull the paper free.

It was another of Connor’s sticky notes.

 

_You should give it name._

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick update- with hopefully another to follow by the end of the week. *fingers crossed*

“What the fuck.”

“Oh. Good morning Hank. It’s good to see you up before 9am.”

“Uh...huh...” Hank said, staring. Still trying to process what he was looking at.

There were pancakes. That was first thing his sleep fogged brain deemed important. An entire massive stack of fluffy, perfect golden brown pancakes perched on the table. The kitchen was spotless, counters practically sparkling in the early morning sunlight. The air laden with the warm scent of cinnamon, sugar, coffee and a subtle hint of lemon. Connor stood at the center of this odd, domestic scene. Pulling Hank’s favorite mug down from the cupboard, Connor filled it from the freshly brew pot of coffee. Turning to Hank with a faint smile Connor held it out in offering.

Hank continued to stare.

“What the fuck?” He repeated.

Connor blinked. Brow furrowing as he tipped his head “It’s breakfast.”

“I got that part, thanks.”

“Then I’m not sure why you’re confused.”

“Because- augh. Forget it.” Fucking obtuse android. It was too early for this. Wiping a hand down his face Hank peeked over his fingers to look at the table again. “Look better than your first attempt.”

Connor grinned, sheepish. That had been a memorable morning. Waking to the smell of burnt batter and a very perturbed android. It had been one of Connor early attempts at ‘off network’ learning. Seeing what he was capable of on his own, without relying on protocol downloads from other models. Hank found the whole thing pretty goddamn funny. Tens of thousands of dollars super computer for a brain and the kid could’ve probably burned water. Hank had no idea why Connor was on this little crusade- or why he’d been avoiding doing just about anything that would’ve brought him into contact with Cyberlife’s servers. But if Connor didn’t want to talk about it, Hank wasn’t going to pry. That wasn’t his place before and it sure as hell wasn’t now that Connor was a free thinking individual.

With an air of exaggerated caution, Hank sat down the table, grunting out a “Thanks” when Connor set the coffee down beside him.

“Not telling me off today? Letting me know just how quick I’m gonna clog up my remaining arteries?” Hank said, loading up the pancake he pulled from the stack with butter, and syrup. Connor gave him a _look_ before turning back to putting away the dishes he’d been working on when Hank had woken up.

“You meal now contains wall over the recommended level of daily glucose and cholesterol. You shouldn’t eat that.” Connor replied, voice flat and almost mechanical.

“Welp, everybody’s gotta die of something.” Hank said, injecting cheerfulness into his voice as he took an unnecessarily big bite. It was good. Really good. He caught Connor looking at him over his shoulder and gave the other a thumbs up, mouth still full. The android straightened, clearly pleased with his success.

Connor finished putting away his dishes as Hank ate. Hank watched, confused as Connor rolled down the sleeves of his pastel blue shirt from his elbows, heading into the living room.

“Where are you going?” Hank called after swallowing painfully. They had the day off after all. No where to go, nothing to do. It was why he’d been so annoyed waking up. The android continued to the door and Sumo perked up from his lazy sprawl in the living room when Connor picked up his lead.

“I’m going to take Sumo out for a walk.” Connor said humor underscoring his words when Sumo lumbered towards him, wagging eagerly. Connor knelt to attach the lead to his collar, gaze turning to Hank as he ruffled his hands through Sumo’s fur. “Please enjoy the rest of your meal. We should be back in an hour.”

Hank shifted in his seat. This wasn’t unusual for the other. Connor often took Sumo for early morning walks, especially on their rare days off, but it was usually before Hank was awake. Then the kid would come back and putter around the house or talk to him while Hank would make coffee or scrape together something for food. This was a break in routine. And Hank felt. Weird about it. And then felt weird for feeling weird about it.

Connor was pulling on his baggy jacket and settling the dark beanie on his head by the time Hank found his voice again.

“Hey.”

Connor looked over at him again. Brown eyes bright as he arched his eyebrows and tipped his head. Hank snorted when Sumo mimicked the gesture.

“Just sit tight a bit. I’ll come with ya.” Hank took his last bite and got up from his seat.

“But it’ll get cold-”

“Wonders of technology Connor. It’s called a microwave.” Hank set his syrup sticky plate in the sink, soaking it to keep it from being an absolute bitch to clean later. Sumo was starting to wine, wiggling and pawing at Connor’s boot. “Take him out front. I’ll be right behind you.”

Confusion still marred the android’s brow. Then it shifted, softened and Hank caught a flicker of a smile as he turned down the hall. “Okay Hank.”

Hank listened as the front door opened and shut, closing the door to his room as he shucked his pyjamas and tugged on warmer clothes. A quick stop to the washroom to piss, scrub his face and brush his teeth before he returned to the kitchen.

Then he saw the first note.

It was orange and stuck to the cover of an old recipe book Connor had dug up from god knows where on one of his late night cleaning binges.

_You’re a good teacher. But your recipes could use approximately 73% less sugar._

Hank snorted reflexively. He’d been finding these damn things all over the place for the past 2 weeks or so. All of them written in the same, perfectly even lettering. He had no idea what to make of them still. Initially, he’d written them off, figuring it was Connor’s (un)subtle way of annoying him. And instead of just tossing them like he probably should’ve, Hank had started collecting them.

He’d always been stupid and too sentimental. But some of the notes were. Weirdly charming.

Hank found this one funny. Like the android ever listened to him about anything.

He grabbed his coffee cup and opened the cupboard to grab a thermos from the top shelf. There was another note attached to it.

_You should only drink one of these a day._

Hank rolled his eyes and made sure to fill thermos nearly to the point of spilling over the lip. Just because he could. Sipping at the still steaming coffee, Hank packed up the rest of the pancakes, layering paper towel between them to keep them from sticking to each other in the container.

There was another note attached to a bowl of fruit on the top shelf of the fridge when Hank went to tuck the leftovers away.

_You really shouldn’t skip breakfast so often._

Wow. Connor had been on a real kick last night. Rolling his eyes, Hank removed the note and grabbed up a few apples slices from the bowl.

And a fourth was stuck to his gloves, resting on the table by the door.

_You dislike it when your hands are cold._

Hank left the other three notes stacked with that one. Pulling on his jacket and boots, he slipped the gloves into his pocket. Grabbing his thermos, Hank stepped outside into the bracing chill. Sumo was eagerly bounding through the snow, tearing wide tracked across the yard under Connor’s watchful eye. Locking the door behind him, Hank hunkered down into the collar of his jacket and headed for them.

“Alright you two. Let’s get this over with before I freeze my ass off.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is so late! ^^"" Been going through my own bought of feeling like human garbage. So this ones a little quiet and a little sad. Hopefully more fully fun times to happen soon!  
> Thank you to all the lovelies who've left comments and kudos! You are all fantastic.
> 
> (And sorry for any typos/errors. Wrote this in a blur this morning before work. I will go back and edit hopefully later today. If you catch any obvious ones please feel free to point them out! I appreciate the feedback.)

Hank still had bad days. On occasion they were _very_ bad days. Days when the light in his eyes was dimmed to near nonexistence. Mornings Connor would knock on the door of Hank’s room and be met with silence and an unresponsive lump in the bed. Where, when words did escape the lieutenant’s lips they were either short and weary. Or spit with such acidic vitriol it was a wonder they didn’t burn.

Connor would take the angry bad days over these silent, grief filled ones. Hank’s anger and outbursts were something he was used to handling. Had been from the very earliest days of knowing him. At least the anger got Hank to burn through some of the pent up emotional anguish. Some of the dark energy that festered in the corners of his mind. Connor could handle the curses and Hank shoving him away or getting in his face. It wasn’t something he’d ever taken personally. Knowing the real root of Hank’s ‘personal issues’ now, a giant, gaping hole in his heart named Cole, made it easy enough to wall himself off from the sting.

Unlike the silence, which festered like poison beneath Hank’s skin and sapped any and all vitality from him.

It was the quiet days that Connor would send off a notice to Captain Fowler. Apologizing for their absence, but offering to pull double or over night shifts to make up for the time for them both. Fowler would respond shortly, terse and frustrated as he always was with Hank. Connor had learned to read between the lines. To see what the Captain always told him in situations like this.

_Take care of him._

Jeffrey Fowler was a very interesting person.

Besides, Connor hardly needed the reminder. He would look after Hank to the best of his abilities of his own volition. He had been for a long time.

Blinking himself out of his mind palace, Connor stepped into the dark, musty room. Glancing at the lump on the bed he crossed the space, careful of the clothes and books strewn along the floor. He pulled open half of the curtains, allowing natural light to filter into the room gently as the sun rose. Hank didn’t even grumble at him for it either. Just shifted onto his other side, back to Connor and the light.

“There’s breakfast on the table if you’d like it Hank.” Connor knew he had less than a 34% chance of success with the usual bribe to get Hank up. But he always made it regardless, determined to keep the day as normal as he could. To give Hank a routine to maybe try and follow if he could claw out of the dark corners of his memories. “I’m going to take Sumo out for his morning walk. We’ll see you in an hour.”

No response.

Connor left. Leaving the bedroom door open to let in more light and perhaps to tempt the lieutenant out while they were gone with the warm smell of food and coffee. Sumo lay with his head on his paws beside the kitchen table, whining softly when only Connor appeared from the hall. Connor gave him a sad smile, kneeling beside him  to gently stroke his back. It always impressed Connor how intuitive Sumo was in regards to his owners mental state.

“Come on Sumo.” Connor coaxed gently, ruffling the dog’s ears and brightening his voice a little, “Time for your walk.” Sumo did perk up a little, tail beating a few times on the floor. Connor grinned at the familiar reaction and headed for the door to put on his jacket and shoes. Sumo followed, pausing to whine at the hall as he passed before butting his head into Connor’s knees as the android attached his lead.

“We’ll be home soon.” Connor called back into the house as he and Sumo stepped out the door, the big dog eager to get going. Triggering the electronic alarm he’d convinced Hank to have installed a few weeks ago, Connor followed Sumo as they set off down the street. They took their usual route, through the streets and meandering across the park not far from the house. The cold February air raked across them both, ruffling Sumo’s thick coat and tugging at Connor’s puffy jacket. The chill wasn’t much of a deterrent to either of them, but Connor could tell Sumo was starting to get antsy to get home. So, with a quick detour, the two found themselves stepping back into the warmth of 115 Michigan Drive within about 45 minutes. Freeing Sumo from his lead once they were inside, Connor stripped off his jacket and shoes. Hank’s plate of food sat untouched on the table, the coffee cold beside it. Worry filtered through Connor. He quickly tucked it away. The house was still quiet, but the light was on in the bathroom. Connor packed up the leftovers and was just finishing up the dishes Hank finally showed his face.

“Good morning Hank. There’s leftovers in the fridge if you want to heat them up.” Connor said, carefully keeping his voice low and ignoring the twist in his gut at the other’s sunken eyes and pallid complexion. He looked like he hadn’t slept.

Again, Hank didn’t respond to him. Glassy blue eyes drifted aimless across the air, though Connor noticed they settled in a few spots for longer. The cupboard that held his last bottle of Black Lamb. The drawer he kept both his service weapon and Cole’s picture in. And finally something flickered in Hank’s eyes when they landed on the small box on the table from the bakery Connor had made a detour to.

“They’re fresh. Suzy was just pulling them out of the oven when Sumo and I stopped in.” Connor’s sensors still flared a little in alarm when he took into account the amount of sugars and fats contained in just one of the innocuous glazed donuts. But he’d learned to appreciate the idea of ‘simple pleasures’ these last few months. And today if they could get even a glimmer of life back in Hank’s eyes, Connor would- metaphorically- bite his tongue on the subject.

Hank stared at the box, at Connor then huffed under his breath. It wasn’t a smile, or a laugh or even anything close to it. But it was something. And Connor would take it with both hands. Especially when the lieutenant hooked two of the donuts from the box, something a little defiant in his features. Connor rolled his eyes at the action, finishing his tasks and tucking the now clean dishes back in the cupboard.

Hank made his way over to the couch, collapsing heavily back on it. He grunted as Sumo plodded over, thrusting his head into Hank’s gut with eager, happy whines. Hank shifted the sticky pasties out of Sumo’s reach as he rested his free hand on the dog’s head.

“Hey pal. Who’s a good boy?”

A small coil of relief twisted through Connor at the sound of Hank’s voice, dull as it might have been. Silently he thanked Sumo and set a reminder to himself to give him an extra treat today. He let Hank munch on his own treats and pat Sumo as Connor moved to turn the thermostat up a little and grab an extra blanket from the closet. Grabbing a fresh cup of coffee from the kitchen, Connor offered both it and the blanket to Hank just as he finished his second doughnut.

Instead of taking them like Connor had hoped the human just stared at him. Expression unreadable, arms curled over his chest.

“Why you doing this kid? Why do you bother? Wasting your time.”

“I don’t think it’s a waste at all.” He countered immediately, keeping his voice light but firm. He set the cup down and held the blanket out again. “And I thought my reasons would be obvious by now.”

Hank grunted and snatched the blanket from Connor’s hand. Connor nodded, pleased and took his seat on the other side of the couch. Hank was quiet, just clutching the blanket to his chest, hair in his eyes as he stared down at his lap.

“Why don’t you just leave me be...”

“If that’s what you really want, I will.” And Connor meant it. He knew he could be obstinate and very often ignored the lieutenant’s commands and wishes. But he also knew when he should back off. And if Hank needed him to right now, he would. But Connor wanted Hank to _understand_. “But I care a great deal about you Hank. And while I know there is nothing I can do to to erase your suffering, I would still like to be here. To do what I can to ease it.”

Hanks fingers twitched in the soft material of the blanket. The house stilled for a moment or two. Then Hank exhaled, the sound shuddering just a little.

“I don’t get you Connor.”

“I’m aware.” Connor said, placid smile on his face as he arched a teasing brown, “You’ve informed me of this 47 times in the past three months. Though to be fair to you, I am the most technologically advanced android ever created. There are very few who ‘get’ me.”

“Smartass.” And there was a rough note in Hank’s voice- just this side of humor.

“Actually-” Connor started and cut off when a heavy weight fell against his side. He jerked his head, blinking, led flickering yellow when he saw Hank leaned against him, head on his shoulder.

“...I fuckin’ miss him.” Hank voice was choked, wet and low. The lieutenant was stiff, shoulders hitched up, every muscle tensed to the point of trembling. Grief settled in a cold, painful shroud around his shoulders.

And Connor couldn’t understand. Would never understand the pain in Hank’s voice, the loss he’d suffered.

But _guilt_? The low bite of it that was still in Hank’s voice? That was something Connor knew intimately. It was the only thing he could try to soothe. Why he would remind Hank again and again that the accident had been just that. An accident. Not his fault.

Not like Connor’s.

Immediately Connor shut that thought process down and shoved it away. Now was not the time. Not with Hank shivering and hurting against him. Still Connor was unsure of how to proceed. Hank was generally a tactile person. Responding to and giving touch as a means of expressing himself. But this particular wound was still raw. And Connor didn’t want to aggravate it. Still. He couldn’t just _sit_ here. Stiff and cold. Like a _machine_. So he shifted, just enough to get his left arm free. Slowly so Hank could tell him to stop or pull away, Connor curled the arm across Hank’s back, hand resting on his shoulder tentatively. An awkward facsimile of the hugs Hank gave him. He felt the human tense under the touch. But he didn’t snap, or pull away. And eventually that extra bit of tension bleed out of him.

“ _Fuck...”_

The sobs were quiet, choked things in the back of the human’s throat. Interspersed with ragged, shaking breaths and a growing, wet patch on Connor’s shoulder. Connor tightened his grip gently and turned on the news, upping the volume to give Hank a modicum of privacy in his sorrow.

It didn’t last for long. Hank already exhausted ran dry within a few minutes, the shuddering and tears dying out. Connor waited until the other’s breathing and heart rate evened out into sleep before he finally let go. While Connor was perfectly fine where he was, he knew that Hank would wake up sore and irate if he let him stay as he was. So carefully he extracted himself from underneath Hank and settled him down into a more comfortable position on the couch. Placing a throw pillow under his head and pulling the blanket to cover his toes. He stopped in the bathroom to grab a bottle of Tylenol for the headache Hank was going to wake up with, setting it and a glass of water on the coffee table. He quietly set about prepping ingredients for sandwiches, simple things for the other to put together when he felt like eating. As he went about his tasks, Connor also wrote his notes.

 

 _You’ve gone five days without alcohol._ Set beside the Black Lamb.

 _Don’t forget to purchase a new razor soon._ Settled beside the mirror in the bathroom.

 _Those donuts contained 556 calories- you’ll need to exercise an extra 45 minutes on our next jog. ;)_ Placed conspicuously on top of the doughnut box.

 

As he finished tidying the kitchen from prepping lunch, Connor found himself staring at the drawer and the frozen in time smile of Cole. He had Hank’s eyes and that same crooked smile. Peaceful and happy. A warmth which shouldn't be tucked out of sight. But that was a choice only Hank could make.

With a sigh, Connor attached the last note to the bottom of the drawer, between the empty revolver and Cole’s picture and hoped it would be a long time before Hank saw it.

_Cole looks a lot like you._


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something a little softer to make up for last chapter. <3
> 
> *Special thanks to @Jillie_chan for the suggestion for this one!! ;D

“Goddammit that’s the second time this month.”

The warm spring day found both Hank and Connor in the driveway. Tools spread around the ground, the smell of smoke and heat fouling the air. It was a rather unfortunate turn of events. They’d been given a break after nearly three grueling weeks of case after case. The plan had been for them to take a drive out to the St. Clair lake for the day.

Unfortunately Hank’s absolutely ancient vehicle had had other plans. When Hank had gone to start it, the engine had stalled, sputtering and gasping wretchedly. Turned over once and died in a heavy breath of smoke. It’d been nearly an hour since then. Hank was up to his elbows in grease, face steam fried and sweaty. He still refused to let Connor call a tow truck to take the vehicle to a proper repair shop. He’d bristled at the very suggestion. Spitting that ‘those fuckin idiots wouldn’t know how to treat her’ and that he’d ‘been doing this for years.’

Which brought Connor to what felt like a very reasonable question.

“Hank?”

“What?” Hank muttered around the wrench he held between his teeth. He finished fiddling with the engine, stepping back and scrapping the grubby cloth he held across his forehead.

“May I ask why you don't own an automated vehicle?”

Hank paused.

“The make of your car is from the 1980’s. It’s impressive that you’ve maintained it so well all these years. But the effort seems unnecessary when automated vehicles are proven to more efficient, require far less upkeep and have been available for years now.”

Silence. Hank stared, unfocused at the car for a moment before his gaze dropped. Absently he started cleaning the wrench. Then he shrugged.

“...Used to.”

“Oh.” Connor said, nonexistent stomach plummeting. He knew _that_ tone. Something to do with the accident. Hank wasn’t looking at him, mindlessly wiping his hands on the soiled rag, smears of black simply spreading. Connor straightened from where he was bent over the engine. His hands grasped the hem of his t-shirt, tugging at it nervously in absence of his tie. “I’m sorry, Hank. I didn’t mean-”

“Ah lay off it Connor. ‘sokay. You don’t need to apologize.” Hank went to rub a hand over his face. He caught himself at the last second, sneering at the oil stains and dropping it awkwardly. “You're right. I think the old girl’s just about had it. Probably not a terrible thing to look into. Getting a new one I mean.”

Connor knew Hank could be very...particular about his personal affects. Especially ones he was attached to. The Oldsmobile very much lay within that category. But perhaps to ease the transition, Hank would let Connor help. It’d be a good opportunity to discover even more of Hank’s ‘personal tastes’. Connor found he often learned a lot about _himself_ along the way. “I could assist if you’d like. It could be fun.”

Hank looked at him a moment, brow twisting before he snorted and smiled. Small, crooked and warm. “ ‘Fun’ huh?” Hank echoed, something in his voice Connor couldn’t quite quantify. “You’re fucking weird Connor.”

Connor just blinked at him. Hank rolled his eyes and walked over, nudging Connor with his elbow. “Alright scoot. Let’s see if that worked.” He slammed the hood down and climbed into the drivers seat. The engine sputtered. Once. Twice. Chugging and gasping in a very unpleasant way. Then it caught, turned over and roared to life. Well. More a whimper than a roar. Hank looked elated. “Hell yes! We have lift off. What’d I tell ya Con?”

Something electric buzzed through Connor’s circuits. The nickname was a recent development, but becoming more frequent. The designation was something the android had grown increasingly fond of because of what it symbolized. After all, Hank only gave them to things- or people- he felt attached to.

A privilege indeed.

“You were correct Hank. However, I did not see any ‘lift off’. And true flying vehicular transportation is still several years-”

“Figure of speech.” Hank groused, still smiling. “Get in.”

“Where are we going?”

“Celebration cruise. Too late to make it to the lake now, but might as well do something with the day.”

“Is that not contradictory to your wish to have the vehicle last as long as possible? It would be more advisable to-”

“Connor.” Hank said, voice flat.

“Yes Hank?”

“Live a little.”

Connor straightened where he stood, expression carefully neutral, “I think you’ll find that I intend to live a lot.”

“Good.” Hank grinned, leaning over to throw the passenger door open, “So get in.”

Connor did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about cars. The end. xD


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo. I don't have an excuse really for why this took like...literally over a month. I just fell out of inspiration for DBH for a while and fell back into some older fandoms. ^^"" 
> 
> So to get back into the swing of things today's 'chapter' is two unrelated drabbles.
> 
> I do want to say a huuuuuuge THANK YOU to everyone who left all the support and such lovely comments since the last chapter! It honestly makes my day even if it's just a word or two. You are all fantastic!! I will get around to properly responding to those comments- just give me some time. <3

“ _CONNOR!_ ”

Static screamed through Connor’s audio processors. Errors littered his vision, red and jarring. His vision tearing in jagged, grey scale strips making it near impossible to see the world around him. Commands ricocheted around in his head. Requests to move, to speak, to _function_ coming back denied or as further errors.

Then there was pressure. At his chest and shoulders. He was lifted- thirum pump chugging unsteadily from the motion. Braced against a solid, _human_ warmth. A hand brushed his face, skirting along his skin nervously.

Connor knew that hand.

Despite the absolute disarray of his thoughts, a cool wave of relief filtered through Connor. Hank was here now. Hank had found him. He wasn’t alone and the odds of things ‘being okay’ was increasing incrementally.

Now if he could just get his diagnostic process functioning so he could express that to the frantic human next to him.

“-on. Hang on-” Hank’s voice barely broke through the hazy screeching static. If only his own vocal unit was functioning properly, Connor would’ve reassured the other. A hand curled against the side of his head, fingers in his hair. The motion made him brush against the misplaced audio processor and Connor flinched at the shock through his system.

“T- hEll-” Hank moved his hand. Connor’s head rolled trying to push the lieutenant’s hand back, to get the processor back in place. “-fuCk. Oka-ay...juuuust- lemme-”

The world surged to life as Hank’s fingers pressed behind his ear.

The rapid pulse of Hank’s heart, marred by the arrhythmia was one of the first sounds to filter in, impossible to miss from where his head was held against the Lieutenant’s chest. It was weirdly comforting. He still needed to remind Hank to schedule his bi-monthly checkup though. A human’s heath could be such a fragile thing. But Hank was improving. Connor intended to make certain that trend continued.

“Connor?” There was Hank’s voice, blessedly clear and recognizable. A few of the errors in his vision filtered away with the fix. The overload on his system eased just enough that Connor was finally able to complete the diagnostic and repair on his voice.

“I can hear you now.” A few hiccups of static noise and slight vocal dissonance but that was hardly a pressing issue. Especially not in the face of the gigantic red error swamping the middle of his vision. And the flashing timer just below it.

23 _minutes to Total System Failure._

“Great. Now what the fuck we do for the rest of it? Jesus your fucking bleeding all over-” Hank still held him up, even as he shifted a hand, pressing fruitlessly against Connor’s chest. The sentiment behind the gesture was appreciated, but Thirium did not stem the way a human’s blood would. The pressure was, unfortunately useless. The Lieutenant's skin pallid. A nasty combination of fear and slowly fading adrenaline. He needed to get the human to calm down long enough to listen to him.

“My thirium pump regulator has been dislodged. If you can realign it, my systems should be able to begin rudimentary self repairs until we can reach help.”

“Okay. Walk me through it.”

“I’m going to deactivate my skin so you can access the regulator. You’ll need to remove it and any obstructions within the port in 87 seconds.” 18 seconds less than Connor’s average, but with his systems damaged already his time was cut short. Even as he spoke, Connor ran the background program to peel away the synthetic skin across his abdomen. The flickering red circle of his thirium regulator shuttered unsteadily in the gloom. Almost on instinct Hank’s hand came to hover just over it. Then he froze, Connor words apparently sinking in. Hank’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle jumped beneath his skin.

“No! I- I can’t just. Just fucking- that’s your goddamn _heart_ Connor. I can’t-”

“Hank.” The stern, serious note in Connor’s voice was diminished slightly by a crackle at the end. But it still got Hank to look him in the eye and that was what the android needed right now. The other had to understand the situation. “My motor functions are severely compromised. I wouldn’t be able to move quickly enough to prevent a full system shut down. I can’t do this on my own. I need your help.”

Hank gritted his teeth, the low grind of them audible even to Connor’s error riddled ears. It was a terrible habit of the Lieutenant’s. It didn’t happen often, but Connor had learned to associate it with moments of high stress in the other.

“I-”

“It’s okay.” Connor soothed, forcing his hand up to rest against Hank’s on his chest. “Just twist and pull.”

“Just...? Ah _fuck-_ ” Hank made a noise somewhere between a laugh and sob, caught heavy and rough in the back of his throat. Hank’s grip on him shifted, bracing him closer to his chest. Something heavy and warm cradled the crown of his head- Hank’s other hand.

“Sorry.”

Connor’s vision actually cleared somewhat as Hank wretched the pump free. Every system he had stalling and screeching in hyper focus as his most vital bio component was removed. The timer swarmed across his vision, sharp and red.

_Shit._ Connor thought as the timer flared to life across his HUD. His postulated time frame was even shorter than he’d anticipated. He should warn Hank but descided against it immediately. With the man’s stress levels already so high and further pressure would increase the likelihood of him making a mistake to an unacceptable level. So Connor silenced himself and bore with the world slowly draining away from his senses. He was distantly aware of a pressure inside of him. His HUD unhelfully informing him of ‘foreign contaminates’ and a general, highly scientific sense of ‘wrongness’ as his delicate innards were prodded and poked at with all the subtly of an intoxicated Gavin Reed.

The timer dipped into single digits, the world entirely faded to black covered silence save for the red timer pasted against the backdrop.

_Biocomponent 8456w installed_

_Initializing..._

_Processing..._

_7%..._

_23%..._

_58%..._

_87%..._

_93%..._

_100%..._

_Biocomponent 8456w successful reactivated._

_Alert: Thirium 310 levels below_ _20_ _%._ _Foreign contaminants present in Thirium vascular system._ _Please seek assistance at the nearest CyberLife facility._

“Connor! Goddamn it kid- talk to me! _Connor_!”

Oh. Right. He needed to reactivate his vocal unit. Connor did so, setting a few other diagnostic process to begin parsing out the damage to the rest of his systems. “Thank you Hank.”

“Don’t mention it.” Hank breathed, head drooping on his shoulders. He scrubbed his thirium coated hand on his jack, smearing it in brilliant blue. “Come on. We gotta get you to Markus.”

Before Connor could protest Hank’s grip on him shifted and the android was heaved solidly up into Hank’s arms. The human barely staggered under his weight. Hank gripped under his knees and shoulders keeping him close.

“Don’t fuckin’ argue with me.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Connor assured him, the diagnostic on his arms finishing enough that he could loop one around Hank’s neck in an effort to not be complete dead weight. “I don’t think my systems could take an attempt at walking just yet.”

Hank gripped him tighter, the even squelching of his boots through the mud picking up. As they crested the hill Connor caught sigh of at least five police cruisers and two paramedic vehicles covering the road a head of them. Officers swarmed both sides of the highway, reflective bands of gold and blue flashing in the whirling red and blue lights. They were going to have their work cut out for them with the recent rain. Connor wished he could assist, but that wasn’t going to be possible for a few hours at least.

As they passed through the jagged gaping tear in the guard rail, Connor twisted slightly in Hank’s grip, attention fixing on the nearest ambulance. Another wave of relief washed over him when he caught sight of the young woman wrapped in an orange shock blanket, perched on the back steps of the vehicle. Damaged as they were his systems couldn’t give him a full account of her state. But it was at least enough to confirm she’d escaped the accident largely unharmed.

Nobody tried to intercept Hank as they wound through the other vehicles. Chris appeared briefly, expressing both relief and concern at Connor’s well being before vanishing back into the chaos. They reached the Oldsmobile in what had to be record time, Hank bundling Connor into the back carefully. But not before spreading out his jacket and an old blanket across the seat in an attempt to keep it relatively thirium free. The Lieutenant then clambered in to the drives seat, jamming the keys into the ignition and flipping on his own lights and siren as he peeled away down the highway, heading for Detroit proper.

Silence hung like a storm cloud in the car. The atmosphere tense and jagged as broken glass. The timer ticked down in the corner of Connor’s vision, minimized, but ever present. Finally he caught Hank’s eyes through the rear view mirror as Hank glanced back for what was probably the 14th time in less than 20 minutes.

“I’m going to go into a low power state to conserve energy and assist my repair programs.”

“Do what you gotta. I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

“I just wanted to let you know because it will likely cut off many of my non-essential functions- such as breathing. I didn’t want to alarm you further.”

“ s’ _fine_.” Hank bit out, hands white knuckled on the steering wheel. “Just take care of yourself.”

It was very clearly not _fine,_ but Connor knew pushing or prying at the issue right now was going to be more detrimental than anything to both of them. Instead he nodded, stiff and let his eyes drift shut.

He could feel Hank’s eyes on him as he fell into that uncomfortably familiar stillness once more.

 

 

 

Within two and a half hours of their arrival to Jericho, Connor was back on his feet. Fully functional and the only evidence of the incident the thirium stains on his clothes and the back seat of the Oldsmobile where it’d leaked through the blanket in spotty patches.

Oh. And the fierce glare Hank had Connor pinned to the floor with.

“So you gonna tell me what the actual _fuck_ you were doing?”

“I believe I already have. Had I not interceded when and how I did we’d be dealing with three human deaths instead of one injured driver.”

“We wouldn’t have been dealing with shit if you’d just stayed away from this one. This was supposed to be _our_ case Connor! As in you and me- ringing any bells? You don’t go chasing down cockeyed leads on your own in the middle of fucking nowhere! Jesus christ- if dispatch hadn’t picked up that signal you-”

“Hank, please. You’re only aggravating your own emotional state.”

“Don’t fucking try to down play-!”

“I’m not.” Connor cut in again, placating as he stepped closer to the other, hands raised in a gesture of peace. “It’s over now. Everything’s fine.”

The human’s face ran an interesting gauntlet of expressions before he blew out a huge gust of air, shoulders actually deflating with the motion.

“God I need a drink.” Connor sighed, then smiled a little.

“I doubt you’ll find much here beside Thirium. Should we go?”

Hank grunted in lieu of an answer. Brushing passed before catching hold of Connor with an arm around his shoulders as he steered him out of the building.

 

 

Sumo made his displeasure at their unexpectedly long absence known by practically bowling Connor off his feet before he was halfway through the door. Cooing apologies at the dog, Connor gently wrestled him back into the house. Finally allowing the dog to bear hug him and snuffle at his hair, whining and panting.

“Hank?” Connor said, realizing the other man hadn’t moved from the front door. Getting back to his feet with a final pat to Sumo Connor turned around, brow furrowing. He’d barely completed the motion before Hank moved. Taking three big steps to clear the space between them. One of the lieutenant’s hands closed around Connor’s shoulder and hauled him in.

“You gotta stop scaring me like this.”

“I couldn’t just-”

“I know. Too soft with big, stupid heart of yours.” “But you don’t fucking do it alone, Connor. These are _our_ cases Connor. And you’re not-”

Hank cut himself off with a huff. But the way he gripped Connor a little tighter, and sighed against his ear was enough for Connor to understand.

_You’re not replaceable. You’re not expendable. You’re not a machine anymore_

“We’re _partners_ , yeah? Means we do this shit together. Got it?” Hank jostled his shoulder a little before letting him go and taking a step back.

It wasn’t the first time Hank had expressed that sentiment. Far from it actually. But even so, Connor would never be able to deny the rush of emotion that flooded him, when his memory banks called up memories of “Past Hank”. The gruff, unkempt, lost police lieutenant who’d sworn up and down that he didn’t need a partner. Juxtaposed to the moment when, gun drawn and uncertain in the face of the world changing forever, that Hank Anderson had declared Connor as his partner- as some _one_ important- in the face of his cold and ruthless double.

It was a bond between them that had no real name. No real definition. It just. _Was._

They were partners. And because of that, Connor knew he deserved the twist of guilt ridding through him. What had happened tonight could’ve played out a lot differently if he’d just reached out to the one person who’d always been beside him. Who chose to be there.

“Got it.” Connor replied, serious as anything, even as he smiled and made a mental note to leave his next sticky note in the precinct tomorrow morning.

 

_You’re the best partner a ‘soft hearted, plastic cop’ could ask for._

 

* * *

 

 

The sky had been torn open, dumping buckets of icy rain onto the streets of Detroit. It thundered down, drenching the world in a wash of calming stillness. The streets were empty of people and even the autonomous taxi’s were few and far between whisking through the veritable lakes on the roads. The water was a curtain streaming down off the porch’s overhang, obscuring much of the world around for the lone soul braving the bitter chill.

Connor stood in the doorway, optics fixed on Hank leaning against one of the posts. Staring out into the grey, wet world beyond. The human had been drawn from his huddle on the couch when the first rumblings of thunder and droplets of rain battered at the windows.

“Do you ever just wanna. I dunno- slow down a little?” Hanks voice in the sudden stillness jarred Connor from his process of monitoring the other’s vitals in lieu of prodding into his mind.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Connor said, modulating his voice to a lower register, hesitant to break the fragile peace. It was true though, he did not understand. In an android, a processor slowing meant malfunction and damage. Not something to be sought after. But humans and androids were very different beings in that area.

Hank grumbled something under his breath. Hand rubbing across the back of his neck under his pony tail. Eyes cast to the side, anxious- but not tense. “Me either. Guess like. I dunno. Do you ever just want to turn off your brain- not. Not _think_ about so much all the time?”

“I can’t say that I do.” Connor said, closing the door as he stepped out to the Lieutenant’s side. He angled himself so he could see Hank’s face. “But you feel the need to?”

Hank caught his eyes, scoffed tongue bulging out his cheek. “Nah. That’s- well. This kinda weather always. Clears my head I guess.” Hank shrugged again, arms dropping, just to curl over his chest, “Just the sound and the smell.” As he spoke Hank closed his eyes, tipped his head back and took a long, deep breath. “It’s...real nice.”

Instead of responding, Connor looked out across the yard. Reaching out past the protection of the awning, he spread his fingers and let the rain drum across his skin. The delicate sensors running through his hands sent a wave of information through his head. The temperature, the drops per square inch, the level of Co2 in the atmosphere. Connor tucked the information away and quieted all non-essential processes. To see if he could experience what Hank was talking about. He knew it wouldn’t be the same- not really. Android and Human physicality was too different. But even so. For a moment, without the influx of information and data for his processor’s to comb through, it was sort of like a conscious form of stasis.

He supposed that could be considered peaceful.

“The fuck are you doing Connor? You’re getting soaked!”

Hank’s voice pulled Connor’s back sharply and he opened his eyes, blinking as water streamed into his vision. He’d stepped passed awning, out into the open, chilled air. Rain water was soaking through his shirt and pants, making the fabric cling. The chill spread through his dermal sensors, not unpleasant the way it would be for a being of flesh and blood, just an awareness of it. Hank was hovering at the edge of the porch, no longer leaned against the post but still safe beneath the awning.

“I’m sorry Hank. I wanted to-”

“Ah forget it! Just get back under here!”

Connor did as bid, stepping back under the meager shelter. He made to enter the house to dry off but Hank was a step ahead of him, “Hey, hold the fuck on. You’re not going in side like that. Gimme a minute.” And with that the human vanished inside. Connor stayed where he was. Hands tucked neatly behind his back, coin rolling between his fingers.

The rain continued to pour, the skies grey and dark with clouds. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled in the distance. In the quiet Connor idly silenced many of his processors again, eyes slipping shut as he took in the strange absence of information.

“You get water in your wires there kid?”

Hank had returned, one large fluffy towel slung over his shoulder and another in his hands. Sumo was standing beside him, tail wagging lazily as he looked at Connor, but didn’t dare venture outside. Too frightened by the thunder. Connor smiled at the dog and tucked his coin away, reaching out a hand for the towel.

“Thank you Hank. I-” Whatever Connor meant to say was cut off when the world vanished in a blanket of terrycloth. Broad hands ruffled the cloth through his soaked hair, vigorous and tugging at the locks.

“You know for all that processing power- you sure do make dumb ass choices.” Hank’s voice was a gruff, muffled growl. He dragged the towel over Connor’s head a few more times. Vindictive for the sake of it. Connor bore it, knowing the man would run out of steam. And he did, soon, the pressure from his hands disappearing. Connor let the towel fall to hang about his neck. His hair was probably an absolute wreck from the rough handling. Hank was still in front him, his lopsided smile threatening the corner of his mouth. Connor blinked, brow furrowing a little,

“What?”

Hank just snorted and shook his head, throwing the second towel towards him. Connor caught it deftly and used it to start drying his face and hands. Hank gestured to Connor’s soaked clothing.

“You get dried off and outta those. You can borrow some of mine if you need to. Know you’ve been spending a lot of time at New Jericho. I’ll get preppin’. It’s almost eight and Sumo’s getting grumpy.”

_He’s not the only one._ Connor thought, flinching when Hank suddenly flicked his forehead.

“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t think I don’t know what’s going through that stupid, big brain of yours. Smart ass.”

Connor politely refrained from comment. Just as he bit back the helpful comment that none of his eight core processioning units were anywhere near what human’s would deem his posterior. Instead he began to wring and rub the worst of the water from his clothing, so he could tread through house with as little mess possible. Ducking into Hank’s room and stripping off his wet garments, Connor dried himself the rest of the way and consigned himself to another evening spent in a set of Hank’s oversize sweaters and loose sweatpants- the heather grey ones with the drawstring to at least attempt to keep them around his hips.

As he got himself ready once more, Connor dug out the sticky notes and a Sharpie pen. Today’s note was something he’d suspected for a while. The information gained today had simply solidified the idea in his mind.

_Your favorite kind of weather is rain- particularly heavy thunder storms._

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Ms_Chanandler_Bong for the suggestion for this chapter- I had a lot of fun once I got this idea rolling <3

“I. Swear. To God. Connor-!”

“You’ll have to catch me first Lieutenant.” Connor was jogging backwards about three feet ahead of him, like a jackass, looking immensely pleased with himself.

“S-shut up!” Hank wheezed, knowing the android’s answer before he even finished from that stupid grin.

“Negative. I can’t do that while also providing proper encouragement and motivation.”

“Don’t-”

“Keep it up! You got this!” Connor steamrolled his objections with a terrifyingly cheery voice. It gave Hank flashbacks to terrible 90's perms and godawful mustard yellow spandex. Fuck, he’d even changed his vocal inflections to a pitch perfect match.

 _I never should’ve let him watch those fuckin videos._ Hank thought, only able to groan through the fire in his lungs and pounding of his heart. This was what he got for letting Connor sort through all of that junk from the attic. Especially without supervision.

The minutes dragged by like hours and Hank was certain he was going to pass out by the time Connor slowed and called a stop.

“We can take a cool down break here- five minutes.” Unhooking the water bottle from his waist Connor held it out. Snagging it as he staggered forward, Hank collapsed on the bench. Gasping and wheezing for breath. He chugged nearly half of the bottle, spilling a little down the back of his neck in an effort to cool off. The faint breeze kicking up in the air helped a little at least.

It wasn’t until Hank looked up and saw the water and the bridge and the- the _park_. Connor standing at the railing, looking out over the glittering waters. It wasn’t until then that he realized where they’d ended up. Again.

His stomach lurched.

_Shit. Of all the places._

His mouth went dry. An ache kicking up in the back of his head, throbbing in time to his heartbeat. Shit. _Shit_. Had Connor brought them here on purpose? He knew Connor remembered what happened. Of course he did. The android had 100% total recall of anything stored in his memory. But Connor had brought it up when he’d told Hank about CyberLife’s attempted hijack. Hank bottled down the fierce bloom of anger that boiled inside him just remembering what Connor had told him.

Fuck. What did he do? What did he _say?_ Should he say anything? Connor didn’t seem to be having any sort of reaction to being here again- adverse or otherwise. But Hank knew he had a scarily good poker face- even after deviating.

Hank brought the bottle back up to his lips, taking slow careful sips to keep him from blurting out anything stupid. A rueful smile twitched across his face. Shit, just the fact he was sitting here, drinking _water_ instead of beer, muscles aching from a run. His life had changed. Hell _he’d_ changed so much since Connor’d barged into his life. So much of who he used to be before blossoming into life again.

And those parts of Hank were screaming at him for the things he’d said- the things he’d done- to the person in front of him.

He could still feel the bite of the November wind and snow. Feel the burn of alcohol down the back of his throat. The weight of his gun trained directly between strangely soft brown eyes-

Hank was tired. Tired of being a coward. He’d been running from this long enough and it wasn’t right.

Connor _deserved_ an apology for putting up with all of Hank’s shit.

  
“Hey. Connor.” The android turned back to him, one eyebrow quirked in askance.

“I.” He choked, and Connor immediately looked concerned. _Damnit Anderson- come on!_ “I’m sorry. ‘Bout that- bout the last time we were here. I was-” The excuse died on his lips. It didn’t matter how off his ass drunk he’d been. Hank knew that. “It doesn’t matter what I was. Or what I was thinking. I never should’ve. Pulled a fucking _gun_ on you. I’m _sorry_.”

The word felt like it was being torn out of his lungs. Hurt- because it didn’t feel like _enough_. And Connor. Connor was silent. Just watching him. Hank could tell even though he couldn’t bring himself to face the other. He could feel those eyes on him like a physical weight.

“Oh.”

It was such a non-reaction Hank almost choked as he barked a ragged laugh. Oh? Oh!? The fuck did that even mean?

“I didn’t realize you were still troubled by that.” Connor’s said, tone mild like he was discussing the fucking weather- not Hank threatening his life.

“Wha- That’s not. This isn’t about- For fuck sake Connor this isn’t about _me_ being upset! It’s about you.”

“But I’m not-” Connor started, but Hank wasn’t going to let the kid start making excuses for him. Not again.

“I’m sorry, Connor. I’m sorry for- for all the awful shit I said to you before.” Hank’s mind was racing. Remembering the night here. Remembering slamming Connor against the wall of the bullpen, spitting in his face _I’d throw the lot of you in a dumpster and set a match to it!_ A hundred fowl looks and cruel words. “Fuck. I don’t-”

“Hank.” The placating note in Connor’s voice was the straw that broken Hank in two.

“Fuck! I pulled a _gun_ on you Connor! I threatened to _kill_ you!” He wanted to grab Connor, shake some goddamn sense into that head of his. But like fuck he was laying hands on the kid again. Instead he threw himself up off the bench, coils of anxious, angry energy pumping through his blood. “Why aren’t you- sprinting in the other direction? Why aren’t you-”

“Afraid of you?” There was something in Connor’s voice that stalled Hank’s furious rant. Something familiar and wry. The android straightened from where he’d been crouched in front of Hank, arms folding across his chest. “Because I know you wouldn’t.”

“But I thought about it. I- I _wanted_ to.” Admitting that felt like acid in his lungs. But he had. Sure he’d grown the fuck up by the time he’d been standing with a gun to Connor’s head again. Realized he’d been blaming the wrong people all this time. But before that? It’d been easy to blame and hurt _things_ \- but not people.

And damn Connor and his stupid, sensible, reasonable tone as he continued. “Then...you would’ve destroyed a machine. And it would’ve been replaced by another machine-”

“No!” Hank’s gut clenched, heart pounding at the thought of Connor just being replaced- ( _would you’ve even noticed? You fell for it_ ). “That’s not the point!”

Connor actually looked confused, “It is though. I wasn’t a deviant-”

“That doesn’t matter!”

Hank hadn’t meant to shout, the sound loud and jarring in the quiet early morning. Connor didn’t jump, but he did shut up. His led shinning yellow.

“Whether you wanted to call yourself a deviant or not. That didn’t matter.” But Hank had had a long time to think about it. And if you wanted his not so humble opinion, Connor had always been a deviant- at least to some degree. He was just too damn unique to any other android Hank had met before that. Hell, even after the revolution. “I threatened your life.”

“But you didn’t go through with it.” Hank could hear the clinical, curious _why_ clear as day.

“I saw you hesitate...” _I would certainly find it...regrettable-_ “and I couldn’t.”

“...I see.”

“You didn’t want to die.” Hank said, wishing there wasn’t an undertone of questioning. He knew Connor heard it. Saw the way his brow twitched upwards, lips parting.

“...No.” Connor admitted after a time, gaze dropping, LED blue, but cycling. “Being destroyed was counter productive to the investigation.”

Hank snorted under his breath, anger quietly roiling through him still. He collapsed back on the edge of the bench again, feeling burned out and antsy. “Goddamn it Connor...”

“And...it’s unpleasant.”

Hank jerked his head up at the quiet confession. What? How would Connor know that? He was still the original Connor. The first one let out-

Oh.

 _I am the 51_ _st_ _iteration_

-Oh _god_.

“Fuck.” Hank breathed and it shook. “Connor I-”

“Have you felt like that since? Like you wanted to?”

“Of course not!” Hank snapped, horrified at the very idea. “Holy shit-”

“Then I don’t see the issue. It’s in the past Hank. It’s alright.”

Hank shook his head. It wasn’t that simple. It couldn’t be. “That’s your Social Relationship program talking.”

Connor actually rolled his eyes at him. Hank snarled, gritting his teeth.

“Fucking android.”

“Ridiculous human.” Connor shot back. Hank growled.

“Dammit Connor I’m being serious here!”

“So am I.” Connor said, perfectly earnest. He softened, just a little, crouching to the ground in front of Hank so they were eye level. “I forgive you Hank.”

Hank felt the breath leave him. How the hell did words feel like a fist to the gut?

“Why-?” He croaked, staring at Connor. Searching for any hint that the android was lying, or trying to placate him.

He couldn’t find any. Just brutal sincerity and patience.

“Because you’re a good person. Because you make mistakes and you’re not afraid to admit when you’re wrong. Because you hated androids but defended them at every turn.” Connor reached out, slow but not cautious. Hank grunted, startled, when the synthskin peeled back from the android’s hand. The grey and white chassis glinted in the rising the sunlight, the soft blue glow at it’s seams barely visible. Connor lay the hand against Hank’s, squeezing firmly, but gently. “Because you saw _me_ before anyone else did. Even- no. Especially before myself.”

Hank swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. _Damn those puppy dog eyes._

“I owe you a lot Hank.”

“Feeling’s mutual kid.”

Connor’s eyes went distant for a moment. Then a slow, faint smirk pulled at his mouth. Uh oh. Hank knew that look and didn’t like it. It was Connor’s ‘oh I just thought of something and am going to exploit the ever living fuck out of it.’ look.

“Okay then.” Connor said, voice even as he pinned Hank with a glance, “There is something you can do for me. To make up for what happened.”

“Y-yeah sure. What?”

“I want you to run the next 2.8 miles _without_ complaining.”

“What the-?!” The lieutenant sputtered, almost dropping the mostly empty water bottle. Connor caught it deftly, reattaching it to his waist, eyes never leaving Hank’s face.

“We’ve spent the last nearly twenty minutes here, so we’re going to have to increase our pace in lieu of proper distance.” Hank just gaped, like an absolute moron. “Deal?”

Hank stared at the absolutely serious expression on the android’s face. Not a twitch or hint that he was joking. Hank could feel the sweat starting to bead down his spine again. “...You’re a goddamn menace you know that?”

“What can I say Lieutenant?” As he spoke a grin cracked through Connor’s expression. Toothy and crooked and _warm_. Straightening up, Connor held out his hand, pale, freckled skin covering it once again. Hank took it without thinking, letting Connor tug him easily back onto his feet. “You bring out the deviant in me.”

With a wink, Connor spun lightly on his heel and took off at an easy jog down the path. Hank stumbled a step from where the android had tugged pointedly on his arm. A faint, incredulous laugh escaped him.

“So this is my life now...? The hell-?”

Somehow, he really couldn’t bring himself to mind. Even as he started what was probably going to be the jog from hell as Connor started needling him along.

Every step, every pound of his heart in sync with the thud of his feet along the ground, he felt lighter. The crisp, early august air filled his lungs. And even when his muscles began burning, he couldn’t even find it in himself to flip Connor off like usual. Not even when the other would spin around, or loop around to snark terrible 90’s motivational exercise bullshit at him.

By the time they made it back, made it _home_ , Hank knew he was beaming like an absolute idiot. Exhausted and desperately in need of water, he collapsed at the kitchen table after snagging on of the overly sweet energy drinks from the fridge. He sipped at it idly, eyes closed as he got his breathing back under control, tried to calm his heartbeat.

He felt _good_.

Hank drank in the quiet of the house, finally cracking an eye open and looking around lazily. Connor was parked cross legged on the floor, Sumo flopped halfway into his lap, whining happily as the android showered him with attention.

“Hey.” He called after watching them for a minute, something warm settled deep in his chest.

“Hello.” Connor echoed, turning to him, gaze distant. Hank knew he was being scanned, the android monitoring his vitals like he always did after extensive exercise. After barely a moment, he blinked and looked at Hank. “How are you doing?”

“Good.” Connor blinked, slow, something like surprise flicking across his face. A small, almost timid smile broke out, way more endearing than it had any right to be. Hank groaned and stretched out, wincing at the way his clothes clung to his spine. “Feeling pretty gross though. I’m gonna go rinse off.”

“I’ll let Sumo out.” Connor said, a laugh in his voice as Sumo perked up and lumbered off towards the back door. Hank grinned, waving them off. Left alone, he snagged a clean set of clothes and a towel from his room. He dumped the clothes on the seat of the toilet, smiling to himself when he’s gaze caught on a few of the notes stuck to the walls and mirrors. A mix of his writing and Connor’s. Silly, mostly ridiculous things. Like Connor nagging him about the benefits of regular flossing.

This was his life now.

Hank was just fine with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Hank exited the shower, feeling refreshed if still exhausted, it took his brain a good minute to register the change in his room. He stared, blankly at the dozen or so notes that had apparently materialized. Ever single one of them was in a different font. Curious Hank plucked one from the wall.
> 
> You're a good person.
> 
> Hank blinked, surprised, quickly looking at the next note. Every one of them was one of the stupid, sweet things Connor had said to him at the park. He looked for an explanation. Usually, when Connor out right said these things to him he wouldn't deem a sticky note necessary.  
> He found the answer on the last note.
> 
> You deserve reminders of the good on the bad days.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just something short, fluffy and fun today. ^^"

Call him a fucking cliche if you wanted, but Hank Anderson hated summer. He hated the heat and the crowds. Hated the way it made his hair stick uncomfortably to the back of his neck and made sweat pool across his skin. Didn’t help that, really, there was only so much one could do to cool off either. At least in winter you could bundle up. No such luck in June. It didn’t help he wasn’t comfortable in his own skin. He wasn’t in as bad of shape he’d been at the end of last year, thanks to Connor's strict regulation of his exercise and diet. Still, it was a far cry from his prime. Hell, he could _feel_ the curious eyes on him.

“What!?” He snapped, pinning Connor with a glare from across the yard. The android didn’t even blink.

Fucker.

God, just looking at the kid make Hank feel 20 degree’s warmer. Little shit was still in his _jeans_ for fuck sake. He’d hauled out an old kiddy pool, filling it with cool water for Sumo to frolic in. The Saint Bernard had been miserable with the shift in the weather. It was nice to see him perk up from his sprawl in the patch of shade by the house. Connor’d even run out and gotten a bag of ice to add to the pool.

“I didn’t realize you had a tattoo.” Connor said, finally looking away from Hank and calling to Sumo. That made Hank pause. Reflexively, he looked down at his chest, where the dark ink stood out starkly against his skin. He’d unbuttoned the gaudy, oversize Hawaiian shirt he’d dug out of the back of his closet, hoping the piddly breeze would help. It hadn’t really.

“Does it symbolize something?” Connor asked, taking a seat by the pool and splashing the water to show the dummy what it was. “I know that, while not always the case, many humans chose such markings based on personal reasons.”

Hank shrugged, fixing the sunhat on his head. The piece was one he’d had done, more or less, on a whim. Something about it- the wings, the figure, the roses- it had just spoken to him. “Nah. Not really. Was kinda spur of the moment thing. Couple of pals of mine from the Academy were out celebrating grad and well. Guess it just kinda jumped out at me. Just thought it was pretty.” He admitted, an irritating heat blooming in the tips of his ears. Connor’s eyes met his over Sumo’s head, where the big lug was happily lapping the water from his hand.

“It is. The aesthetic of it is very unique.” Connor said, carding his free hand through the dog’s fur. “I think it suits-whoa!” He was cut off by a happy bark and a wave of water as Sumo finally figured out the whole ‘pool’ thing and leapt in with abandon. Hank couldn’t help but laugh at the startled expression on Connor’s face as he blinked water out of his eyes. With a sigh, the android shook his head, running a hand through his hair and mussing up the locks so they stuck up at funny angles. It just made Hank chuckle even harder. Connor glared at him from the corner of his eye, before the facade broke, falling into his own rare, breathy laugh.

“Awww, ain’t he sweet? He wanted to cool ya off.”

“Obviously.” Connor huffed, reaching out to ruffle an affection hand across Sumo’s head, “Thanks Sumo.” The dog ignored him, busy crunching down ice cubes and splashing about in the chilled water. Connor pushed himself back to his feet, wringing out the end of his drenched coral t-shirt. The blank, considering expression on the android’s face was way more sinister than it had any right to be.

“Did you want to partake Hank? It’s exhilarating.”

“Nope. I’m fine thanks.” He turned away hurriedly, packing up the tools he'd been using to patch up a could loose boards on the house side. 

He did _not_ expect a blast of frigid water directly to the back of his head.

“ _Jesus_ -” Hank yelped, voice cracking as he whirled with a glare at his assailant. The water dripped from his hair and trickled down his spine. And, yeah okay, admittedly it did feel pretty good in the sweltering heat. But Hank had his pride, dammit! He couldn’t just let this slide.

Oh the kid was good, casually facing away tending to the freshly mowed lawn. Honestly, considering the distance between them, it was pretty impressive Connor’d been able to reach him with the stream at all. Hank glowered. Okay Mr Roboto. Two could play at that game. Wringing out the ends of his hair Hank looked around the yard, pondering his options. If Connor wasn’t, well, Connor the ice bag would’ve been his first choice. But, as the android loved to remind him, temperature meant basically nothing to him. So that was unfortunately out. And Connor had the only hose.

Then Hank’s eye caught on the pallet of pale yellow paint sitting beside Sumo’s dog house. It had been Connor’s idea to clean up the old thing in the first place. He’d fixed it up nice too. Then they’d come to the task of painting the damn thing. Hank honestly hadn’t thought he’d be arguing fucking colors with _anyone_ in the paint aisles of _Benjamin Moore_ again.

“It’s a shade within his visual spectrum.” The android had explained when Hank had tried to argue for a nice, classic red. Connor had looked downright offended. “He can’t _see_ red. It’s appeal would be lost.” At least he’d agreed to a blue color for the roof- even if he was picky as hell about the ‘perfect’ shade.

A wicked grin curled across Hank’s face. Oh this was going to be fun. Casual as could be, he wandered over towards the dog house, making a bit of a show of inspecting it.

“Alright. So maybe the color isn’t _completely_ terrible.” Hank gestured vaguely when Connor looked over to see what he was talking about. He looked way too satisfied with himself.

“I knew you’d come around eventually.” He called back, returning to where he was plucking weeds from along the fence line. Hank glared at the back of his head, bending to scoop up the paint roller, brush and pallet.

“Yeah yeah smartass.” Hank wandered closer, subtly loading up the brush with a bit of the leftover paint. He came to a stop just behind Connor, hovering over the android’s shoulder. “But you know, since you’re such a fan of it-” He lunged, dripping yellow bristles aimed directly for Connor’s neck-

He was met with icy blast of water directly to the face. He sputtered and dropped the paint to the ground as he tried to ward off the attack. “CONNOR!” He bellowed, half drowning in the attempt. The barrage died off after a moment. Connor’d backed off, standing poised a few feet away, expression neutral.

“My scanners indicated that your temperature was still several degrees above your comfort level. I was merely assisting.”

“Oh fuck off you bastard.” Hank muttered, scrubbing his face and pushing loose curls of hair out of his eyes. “You realize this means war right?”

“I wouldn’t advise it Lieutenant.” Perfectly calm and even, Connor tilted his head just a few degrees, something like a smile flickering in the corner of his mouth. “I’m faster and you’re unarmed.”

“Oh we’ll see about that.”

What followed was about ten minutes of absolute chaos. Connor, the fuckin' tease, would let Hank get close before slipping away at the last moment. The only reason Hank caught him in the end was Sumo deciding to join in the fun. The dog bounded towards Connor, yipping and barking at the spray Connor directed at him with a grin. Hank attempted to flank him and Connor whipped around to intercept. Unfortunately for the android, Sumo lumbered up behind him, shoving through Connor’s legs and sending him sprawling back to the ground. He dropped the hose in an effort to catch himself. Hank took the opportunity to snag it.

“Vengeance!” He cried, cranking up the stream output- really Connor’d been going easy on him- before he proceeded to absolutely drench the android. Sumo helped there too, planting his feet on Connor’s stomach and laving the cold water from his face. Connor actually fucking _giggled_ as he tried to gently squirm out from under the dog and the water. Hank thudding, exhausted heart melted just a little at the sound and the happy, tooth filled grin on his face. He flicked off the hose and let it drop to the ground. Connor finally managed to pry Sumo off of him. The dog flopped to the ground, panting and stretching out in the sun. Hank joined him, limbs sprawling akimbo in the wet, but soft grass. Connor sat up, but didn’t immediately stand, looking over at the Lieutenant. Hank cracked an eye open to look up at him.

“Truce?” He offered. Connor blinked at him. Then smiled, faint and crooked.

“Sure.” With that he got to his feet and vanished inside. Hank couldn’t even bring himself to tell him off for the water that was going to be all over the damn floor now. He was too busy catching his breath. When Connor did return it was with two towels, one draped over his shoulders, the other on his arm. And a cup with the familiar logo of Chicken Feed on it.

“When did you pick this up?” Hank asked, accepting the drink gratefully as Connor sat beside him again. Connor just smiled serenely, setting the extra towel on the ground as he set about drying himself off. The delicious, sweet tang of chilled pineapple washed over his taste buds. Holy shit he could cry from the nostalgia. Sumo dozed beside them as they dried off and Hank nursed his drink.

“I think it would be beneficial to start a small garden back here next year.” Connor said after a couple minutes. Hank paused where he was drying out his hair. Connor noticed “Did I say something strange?”

“Nope. Just...” Hank paused a moment. It was unusual hearing Connor talk about the future. He was often very much a ‘moment to moment’ sort. So to hear him making plans was a nice change of pace. And it encouraged Hank to do the same. “I think it’s a great idea. You’ve got good green thumb.”

“That would be the WR600 protocols.”

“Just take a compliment wiseass.” Hank grumbled, the heat starting to get to him again. “Come on. Let’s go make some lunch. I’m starving.” Connor nodded, getting up and offering a hand to Hank. He took it with only minimal complaint, calling for Sumo as they headed inside. Connor walked ahead of him, chattering animatedly about some new recipe he wanted to try with what sounded like an unholy amount of green and leafy stuff. Hank just left him to it, accepting that it was probably the concession for the ‘cheat’ Connor had slipped him with the Pineapple Passion. Sumo brought up the rear, immediately heading for his own food and water. Hank glanced back into the yard.

The fresh cut grass glistened in the early afternoon. Connor’d probably calculated exactly when and where to move to cover the entire bloody thing during their impromptu little game. There was still a splattering of paint over by the fence where Hank had dropped it. The pool was starting to deflate on one side, the haphazard patch job Hank had did on it years ago coming apart. It looked lived in. Inviting even.

And yeah, okay. The newly refurbished dog house actually did looked pretty good. Sumo’s name scrawled in blue, perfectly straight lettering over top of the entrance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank's Tattoo: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/bQm1m

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So there you have it. I wrote this in like...5 hours. So forgive any rambling/inconsistencies or errors. This was just a silly little idea that wandered into my head after playing through the “Russian Roulette” scene half a dozen times. If anyone has any suggestions for any ‘sticky notes’ please feel free to put them in the comments! They might turn into extra chapters
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed!


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